WINSOME   WINNIE 

AND  OTHER 

NEW  NONSENSE  NOVELS 


BY  STEPHEN  LEACOCK 

FRENZIED   FICTION 

FURTHER  FOOLISHNESS 

BEHIND   THE   BEYOND 

NONSENSE   NOVELS 

LITERARY   LAPSES 

SUNSHINE  SKETCHES 

ARCADIAN  ADVENTURES 

WITH   THE   IDLE  RICH 

MOONBEAMS  FROM  THE 

LARGER  LUNACY 

THE   HOHENZOLLERNS 

IN  AMERICA 

THE  UNSOLVED  RIDDLE 

OF  SOCIAL  JUSTICE 

ESSAYS  AND   LITERARY 

STUDIES 


WINSOME 
WINNIE  o4? 

New  Nonsense  Novels 

BY  STEPHEN  LEACOCK 


NEW  YORK:  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 
LONDON:  JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 
TORONTO:  S.  B.  GUNDY:.  M  C  M  X  X 


\ 


5,1 


Li 


Copyright,  1920, 
By  harper  &  BROTHERS 

Copyright,  1920, 
By  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


'IXO 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


I.    Winsome   Winnie:     or,   Trial   and 

Temptation     .     .• 9 

11.    John  and  1:  or,  How  I  Nearly  Lost 

My  Husband 45 

III.  The  Split  in  the  Cabinet:   or,  the 

Fate  of  England 67 

IV.  Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It?   or,  the 

Mixed-Up  Murder  Mystery  .     .       97 

V.     Broken    Barriers:    or.   Red   Love 

on  a  Blue  Island 145 

VI.    The  Kidnapped  Plumber:  A  Tale  of 

THE  New  Time 179 

VII.    The  Blue  and  the  Grey:  A  Pre-War 

War  Story 207 

VIIL    BuGGAM  Grange  :  A  Good  Old  Ghost 

Story 227 


9i290i^ 


WINSOME  WINNIE 

OR,  Trial  and  Temptation 
{Narrated  after  the  best  models  of  1875) 


I, — Winsome  Wirmie:  or.  Trial  and  Temp- 
tation 

CHAPTER  I 

THROWN  ON  THE  WORLD 

MISS  WINNIFRED;^  said  the  Old 
Lawyer,  looking  keenly  over  and 
through  his  shaggy  eyebrows  at 
the    fair   young    creature    seated 
before   him,    ''you    are   this   morning   twenty- 
one.'^ 

Winnifred  Clair  raised  her  deep  mourning 
veil,  lowered  her  eyes  and  folded  her  hands. 

"This  morning,"  continued  Mr.  Bonehead, 
"My  guardianship  is  at  an  end." 

There  was  a  tone  of  something  like  emotion 
in  the  voice  of  the  stern  old  lawyer,  while  for 
a  moment  his  eye  glistened  with  something  like 
a  tear  which  he  hastened  to  remove  with  some- 

9 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


thing  like  a  handkerchief.  ''I  have  therefore 
sent  for  you,"  he  went  on,  "to  render  you  an  ac- 
count of  my  trust." 

He  heaved  a  sigh  at  her,  and  then  reaching 
out  his  hand  he  pulled  the  woollen  bell  rope  up 
and  down  several  times. 

An  aged  clerk  appeared. 

"Did  the  bell  ring?"  he  asked. 

"I  think  it  did,"  said  the  lawyer.  "Be  good 
enough,  Atkinson,  to  fetch  me  the  papers  of  the 
estate  of  the  late  Major  Clair  defunct." 

"I  have  them  here,"  said  the  clerk,  and  he 
laid  upon  the  table  a  bundle  of  faded  blue 
papers,  and  withdrew. 

"Miss  Winnifred,"  resumed  the  Old  Lawyer, 
"I  will  now  proceed  to  give  you  an  account  of 
the  disposition  that  has  been  made  of  your 
property.  This  first  document  refers  to  the 
sum  of  two  thousand  pounds  left  to  you  by 
your  great  uncle.     It  is  lost." 

Winnifred  bowed. 

"Pray  give  me  your  best  attention  and  I  will 
endeavour  to  explain  to  you  how  I  lost  it." 

"Oh,  sir!"  cried  Winnifred,  "I  am  only  a 

10 


Winsome  Winnie 


poor  girl  unskilled  in  the  ways  of  the  world  and 
knowing  nothing  but  music  and  French,  I  fear 
that  the  details  of  business  are  beyond  my 
grasp.  But  if  it  is  lost,  I  gather  that  it  is 
gone." 

''It  is,"  said  Mr.  Bonehead.  "I  lost  it  in  a 
marginal  option  in  an  undeveloped  oil  company. 
I  suppose  that  means  nothing  to  you." 

"Alas,"  sighed  Winnifred,  "nothing." 

"Very  good,"  resumed  the  lawyer.  "Here 
next  we  have  a  statement  in  regard  to  the 
thousand  pounds  left  you  under  the  will  of 
your  maternal  grandmother.  I  lost  it  at  Monte 
Carlo.  But  I  need  not  fatigue  you  with  the 
details." 

"Pray  spare  them,"  cried  the  girl. 

"This  final  item  relates  to  the  sum  of  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  placed  in  trust  for  you  by  your 
uncle.  I  lost  it  on  a  horse  race.  That  horse," 
added  the  Old  Lawyer  with  rising  excitement, 
"ought  to  have  won.  He  was  coming  down  the 
stretch  like  blue — but  there,  there,  my  dear, 
you  must  forgive  me  if  the  recollection  of  it 
still  stirs  me  to  anger.  Suf&ce  it  to  say  the 
II 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


horse  fell.  I  have  kept  for  your  inspection 
the  score  card  of  the  race,  and  the  betting 
tickets.     You  will  find  everything  in  order." 

*^Sir/'  said  Winnifred,  as  Mr.  Bonehead 
proceeded  to  fold  up  his  papers,  "I  am  but  a 
poor  inadequate  girl,  a  mere  child  in  business, 
but  tell  me  I  pray  what  is  left  to  me  of  the 
money  that  you  have  managed?" 

"Nothing,"  said  the  lawyer.  ^'Everything 
is  gone.  And  I  regret  to  say  Miss  Clair  that 
it  is  my  painful  duty  to  convey  to  you  a  further 
disclosure  of  a  distressing  nature.  It  concerns 
your  birth." 

"Just  Heaven!"  cried  Winnifred,  with  a 
woman's  quick  intuition.  "Does  it  concern  my 
father?" 

"It  does.  Miss  Clair.  Your  father  was  not 
your  father." 

"Oh,  sir,"  exclaimed  Winnifred.  "My  poor 
mother!     How  she  must  have  suffered!" 

"Your  mother  was  not  your  mother,"  said 
the  Old  Lawyer,  gravely.  "Nay,  nay,  do  not 
question  me.  There  is  a  dark  secret  about 
your  birth." 

12 


Winsome  Winnie 


**Alas,"  said  Winnifred,  wringing  her  hands, 
"I  am,  then,  alone  in  the  world  and  penniless." 

"You  are,"  said  Mr.  Bonehead,  deeply 
moved.  "You  are,  unfortunately,  thrown  upon 
the  world.  But  if  you  ever  find  yourself  in  a 
position  where  you  need  help  and  advice,  do 
not  scruple  to  come  to  me.  Especially,"  he 
added,  "for  advice." 

"And  meantime  let  me  ask  you  in  what  way 
do  you  propose  to  earn  your  livelihood?" 

"I  have  my  needle,"  said  Winnifred. 

"Let  me  see  it,"  said  the  Lawyer. 

Winnifred  showed  it  to  him. 

"I  fear,"  said  Mr.  Bonehead,  shaking  his 
head,  "you  will  not  do  much  with  that." 

Then  he  rang  the  bell  again. 

"Atkinson,"  he  said,  "take  Miss  Clair  out 
and  throw  her  on  the  world." 


13 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


CHAPTER  II 

A  RENCOUNTER 

As  Winnlfred  Clair  passed  down  the  stair- 
way leading  from  the  lawyer's  office,  a  figure 
appeared  before  her  in  the  corridor  blocking 
the  way.  It  was  that  of  a  tall  aristocratic- 
looking  man  whose  features  wore  that  peculiar- 
ly saturnine  appearance  seen  only  in  the  English 
nobility.  The  face,  while  entirely  gentlemanly 
in  its  general  aspect,  was  stamped  with  all  the 
worst  passions  of  mankind. 

Had  the  innocent  girl  but  known  it,  the  face 
was  that  of  Lord  Wynchgate,  one  of  the  most 
contemptible  of  the  greater  nobility  of  Britain, 
and  the  figure  was  his  too. 

"Ha!"'  exclaimed  the  dissolute  Aristocrat, 
"whom  have  we  here!  Stay,  pretty  one,  and 
let  me  see  the  fair  countenance  that  I  divine 
behind  your  veil.'' 

"Sir!"  said  Winnifred,  drawing  herself    > 
proudly,  "let  me  pass,  I  pray.'* 

"Not  so,"  cried  Wynchgate,  reaching  out  and 
14 


Winsome  Winnie 


seizing  his  intended  victim  by  the  wrist,  **not 
till  I  have  at  least  seen  the  colour  of  those  eyes 
and  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  those  fair  lips." 

With  a  brutal  laugh,  he  drew  the  struggling 
girl  towards  him. 

In  another  moment  the  aristocratic  villain 
wobld  have  succeeded  in  lifting  the  veil  of  the 
unhappy  girl,  when  suddenly  a  ringing  voice 
cried,  "Hold!  stop!  desist!  begone!  lay  to! 
cut  it  out!" 

With  these  words  a  tall  athletic  young  man, 
attracted  doubtless  by  the  girl's  cries,  leapt  into 
the  corridor  from  the  street  without.,  His 
figure  was  that,  more  or  less,  of  a  Greek  god, 
while  his  face,  although  at  the  moment  in- 
flamed with  anger,  was  of  an  entirely  moral 
and  permissible  configuration. 

"Save  me!  save  me!"  cried  Winnifred. 

"I  will,"  cried  the  Stranger,  rushing  towards 
Lord  Wynchgate  with  uplifted  cane. 

But  the  cowardly  Aristocrat  did  not  await 
the  onslaught  of  the  unknown. 

"You  shall  yet  be  mine !"  he  hissed  in  Winni- 
fred's  ear,  and  releasing  his  grasp,  he  rushed 

15 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


with  a  bound  past  the  rescuer  into  the  street. 

*'0h,  sir!"  said  WInnlfred,  clasping  her 
hands  and  falling  on  her  knees  In  gratitude. 
''I  am  only  a  poor  Inadequate  girl,  but  If  the 
prayers  of  one,  who  can  offer  naught  but  her 
prayers  to  her  benefactor,  can  avail  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  one  who  appears  to  have  every  con- 
ceivable advantage  already,  let  him  know  that 
they  are  his." 

"Nay,"  said  the  stranger,  as  he  aided  the 
blushing  girl  to  rise,  "kneel  not  to  me,  I  be- 
seech. If  I  have  done  aught  to  deserve  the 
gratitude  of  one  who,  whoever  she  Is,  will  re- 
main forever  present  as  a  bright  memory  In  the 
breast  of  one  In  whose  breast  such  memories  are 
all  too  few,  he  Is  all  too  richly  repaid.  If  she 
does  that,  he  Is  blessed  Indeed." 

"She  does.  He  Is !"  cried  WInnlfred,  deeply 
moved.  "Here  on  her  knees  she  blesses  him. 
And  now,"  she  added,  "we  must  part.  Seek 
not  to  follow  me.  One  who  has  aided  a  poor 
girl  In  the  hour  of  need  will  respect  her  wish 
when  she  tells  him  that,  alone  and  buffeted  by 
i6 


Winsome  Winnie 


the  world,  her  one  prayer  is  that  he  will  leave 
her.'^ 

''He  will!"  cried  the  Unknown.  "He  will. 
He  does." 

"Leave  me,  yes,  leave  me,"  exclaimed  Win- 
nifred. 

"I  will,"  said  the  Unknown. 

"Do,  do,"  sobbed  the  distraught  girl.  "Yet 
stay,  one  moment  more.  Let  she,  who  has  re- 
ceived so  much  from  her  benefactor,  at  least 
know  his  name." 

"He  cannot!  He  must  not!"  exclaimed  the 
Indistinguishable.  "His  birth  is  such — ^but 
enough!" 

He  tore  his  hand  from  the  girl's  detaining 
clasp  and  rushed  forth  from  the  place. 

Winnifred  Clair  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  III 

FRIENDS   IN  DISTRESS 

Winnifred  was  now  in  the  humblest  lodgings 
in  the  humblest  part  of  London.     A  simple 

17 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


bedroom  and  sitting  room  sufficed  for  her 
wants.  Here  she  sat  on  her  trunk,  bravely- 
planning  for  the  future. 

*'Miss  Clair/'  said  the  Landlady,  knocking 
at  the  door,  ^'do  try  to  eat  something.  You 
must  keep  up  your  health.  See,  I've  brought 
you  a  kippered  herring." 

Winnifred  ate  the  herring,  her  heart  filled 
with  gratitude.  With  renewed  strength  she 
sallied  forth  on  the  street  to  resume  her  vain 
search  for  employment.  For  two  weeks  now 
Winnifred  Clair  had  sought  employment  even 
of  the  humblest  character.  At  various  dress- 
making establishments  she  had  offered,  to  no 
purpose,  the  services  of  her  needle.  They  had 
looked  at  it  and  refused  it. 

In  vain  she  had  offered  to  various  editors 
and  publishers  the  use  of  her  pen.  They  had 
examined  it  coldly  and  refused  it. 

She  had  tried  fruitlessly  to  obtain  a  position 
of  trust.  The  various  banks  and  trust 
companies  to  which  she  had  applied  declined  her 
services.     In  vain  she  had  advertised  in  the 

i8 


Winsome  Winnie 


newspapers  offering  to  take  sole  charge  of  a 
little  girl.     No  one  would  give  her  one. 

Her  slender  stock  of  money  which  she  had 
in  her  purse  on  leaving  Mr.  Bonehead's  office 
was  almost  consumed. 

Each  night  the  unhappy  girl  returned  to  her 
lodging  exhausted  with  disappointment  and 
fatigue. 

Yet  even  in  her  adversity  she  was  not 
altogether  friendless. 

Each  evening  on  her  return  home,  a  soft 
tap  was  heard  at  the  door. 

*'Miss  Clair,"  said  the  voice  of  the  landlady, 
"I  have  brought  you  a  fried  egg.  Eat  it.  You 
must  keep  up  your  strength." 

Then  one  morning  a  terrible  temptation  had 
risen  before  her. 

*'Miss  Clair,"  said  the  manager  of  an  agency 
to  which  she  had  applied,  ''I  am  glad  to  be  able 
at  last  to  make  you  a  definite  offer  of  employ- 
ment. Are  you  prepared  to  go  upon  the 
stage?" 

The  stage! 

A  flush  of  shame  and  indignation  swept  over 
19 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


the  girl.  Had  it  come  to  this?  Little  versed 
in  the  world  as  Winnifred  was,  she  knew  but 
too  well  the  horror,  the  iniquity,  the  depth  of 
degradation  implied  in  the  word. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  agent,  "I  have  a  letter 
here  asking  me  to  recommend  a  young  lady  of 
suitable  refinement  to  play  the  part  of  Eliza  in 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.     Will  you  accept?" 

"Sir,"  said  Winnifred  proudly,  "answer  me 
first  this  question  fairly.  If  I  go  upon  the 
stage,  can  I,  as  Eliza,  remain  as  innocent,  as 
simple  as  I  am  now?" 

"You  can  not,"  said  the  manager. 

"Then,  sir,"  said  Winnifred,  rising  from  her 
chair,  "let  me  say  this.  Your  offer  is  doubtless 
intended  to  be  kind.  Coming  from  the  class 
you  do  and  inspired  by  the  ideas  you  are,  you 
no  doubt  mean  well.  But  let  a  poor  girl, 
friendless  and  alone,  tell  you  that  rather  than 
accept  such  a  degradation  she  will  die." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  manager. 

"I  go  forth,"  cried  Winnifred,  "to  perish." 
•  "All  right,"  said  the  manager. 

The    door    closed    behind    her.     Winnifred 
20 


Winsome  Winnie 


Clair,  once  more  upon  the  street,  sank  down 
upon  the  steps  of  the  building  In  a  swoon. 

But  at  this  very  juncture  Providence,  which 
always  watches  over  the  innocent  and  defence- 
less, was  keeping  Its  eye  direct  upon  Winnifred. 

At  that  very  moment  when  our  heroine  sank 
fainting  upon  the  doorstep,  a  handsome  equi- 
page drawn  by  two  superb  black  steeds  hap- 
pened to  pass  along  the  street. 

Its  appearance  and  character  proclaimed  it 
at  once  to  be  one  of  those  vehicles  In  which 
only  the  superior  classes  of  the  exclusive 
aristocracy  are  privileged  to  ride.  Its  sides 
were  emblazoned  with  escutcheons,  Insignia 
and  other  paraphernalia.  The  large  gilt 
coronet  that  appeared  upon  its  panelling  sur- 
mounted by  a  bunch  of  huckleberries,  quartered 
in  a  field  of  potatoes,  Indicated  that  its  pos- 
sessor was,  at  least,  of  the  rank  of  marquis. 
A  coachman  and  two  grooms  rode  in  front, 
while  two  footmen  seated  in  the  boot,  or  box 
at  the  rear,  contrived,  by  the  immobility  of 
their  attitude  and  the  melancholy  of  their  faces, 

21 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


to    inspire    the    scene   with    an    exclusive    and 
aristocratic  grandeur. 

The  occupants  of  the  equipage — for  we  re- 
fuse to  count  the  menials  as  being  such — were 
two  in  number,  a  lady  and  gentleman,  both  of 
advancing  years.  Their  snow-white  hair  and 
benign  countenances  indicated  that  they  be- 
longed to  that  rare  class  of  beings  to  whom 
rank  and  wealth  are  but  an  incentive  to  nobler 
things.  A  gentle  philanthropy  played  all  over 
their  faces,  and  their  eyes  sought  eagerly  in  the 
passing  scene  of  the  humble  street  for  new 
objects  of  benefaction. 

Those  acquainted  with  the  countenances  of 
the  aristocracy  would  have  recognized  at  once 
in  the  occupants  of  the  equipage  the  Marquis 
of  Muddlenut  and  his  spouse,  the  Marchioness. 

It  was  the  eye  of  the  Marchioness  which 
first  detected  the  form  of  Winnifred  Clair  upon 
the  doorstep. 

"Hold!  pause!  stop!"  she  cried,  in  lively 
agitation. 

The  horses  were  at  once  pulled  in,  the  brakes 
applied  to  the  wheels,  and  with  the  aid  of  a 

22 


Winsome  Winnie 


powerful  lever,  operated  by  three  of  the 
menials  the  carriage  was  brought  to  a  standstill. 
''See!  Look!"  cried  the  Marchioness. 
"She  has  fainted.  Quick,  William,  your  flask. 
Let  us  hasten  to  her  aid." 

In  another  moment  the  noble  lady  was  bend- 
ing over  the  prostrate  form  of  Winnifred  Clair, 
and  pouring  brandy  between  her  lips. 

Winnifred  opened  her  eyes.  "Where  am 
I?"  she  asked  feebly. 

"She  speaks !"  cried  the  Marchioness.  "Give 
her  another  flaskful." 

After  the  second  flask  the  girl  sat  up. 
"Tell  me,"   she   cried,   clasping  her  hands, 
"what  has  happened?     Where  am  I?" 

"With  friends!"  answered  the  Marchioness. 
"But  do  not  essay  to  speak.  Drink  this.  You 
must  husband  your  strength.  Meantime,  let 
us  drive  you  to  your  home." 

Winnifred  was  lifted  tenderly  by  the  men- 
servants  into  the  aristocratic  equipage.     The 
brake  was  unset,  the  lever  reversed,  and  the 
carriage  thrown  again  into  motion. 
23 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


On  the  way  Winnifred,  at  the  solicitation  of 
the  Marchioness,  related  her  story. 

"My  poor  child,"  exclaimed  the  lady,  "how 
you  must  have  suffered.  Thank  Heaven  it  is 
over  now.  Tomorrow  we  shall  call  for  you 
and  bring  you  away  with  us  to  Muddlenut 
Chase." 

Alas!  could  she  but  have  known  it,  before 
the  morrow  should  dawn,  worse  dangers  still 
were  in  store  for  our  heroine.  But  what  these 
dangers  were,  we  must  reserve  for  another 
chapter. 

CHAPTER  IV 

A  GAMBLING  PARTY  IN  ST.  JAMES's  CLOSE 

We  must  now  ask  our  readers  to  shift  the 
scene — if  they  don't  mind  doing  this  for  us — 
to  the  apartments  of  the  Earl  of  Wynchgate  in 
St.  James's  Close.  The  hour  is  nine  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  and  the  picture  before  us  is  one  of 
revelry  and  dissipation  so  characteristic  of  the 
nobility  of  England.  The  atmosphere  of  the 
room  is  thick  with  blue  havana  smoke  such  as  is 
24 


Winsome  Winnie 


used  by  the  nobility,  while  on  the  green  baize 
table  a  litter  of  counters  and  cards  in  which 
aces,  kings,  and  even  two  spots  are  heaped  in 
confusion,  proclaim  the  reckless  nature  of  the 
play. 

Seated  about  the  table  are  six  men  dressed 
in  the  height  of  fashion,  each  with  collar  and 
white  necktie  and  broad  white  shirt,  their  faces 
stamped  with  all,  or  nearly  all,  of  the  baser 
passions  of  mankind. 

Lord  Wynchgate — for  he  it  was  who  sat  at 
the  head  of  the  table — rose  with  an  oath,  and 
flung  his  cards  upon  the  table. 

All  turned  and  looked  at  him,  with  an  oath. 
*'Curse  it.  Dogwood,"  he  exclaimed  with 
another  oath,  to  the  man  who  sat  beside  him, 
"Take  the  money.  I  play  no  more  tonight. 
My  luck  is  out." 

"Ha !  ha !"  laughed  Lord  Dogwood,  with  a 
third  oath,  "Your  mind  is  not  on  the  cards. 
Who  is  the  latest  young  beauty,  pray,  who  so 
absorbs  you.  I  hear  a  whisper  in  town  of  a 
certain  misadventure   of  yours " 

"Dogwood,"  said  Wynchgate,  clinching  his 

25 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


fist,  "have  a  care,  man,  or  you  shall  measure 
the  length  of  my  sword." 

Both  noblemen  faced  each  other,  their  hands 
upon  their  swords. 

"My  lords,  my  lords!"  pleaded  a  dis- 
tinguished-looking man  of  more  advanced  years, 
who  sat  at  one  side  of  the  table  and  in  whose 
features  the  habitues  of  diplomatic  circles 
would  have  recognized  the  handsome  linea- 
ments of  the  Marquis  of  Frogwater,  British 
Ambassador  to  Slam.  "Let  us  have  no  quar- 
relling. Come  Wynchgate,  come  Dogwood," 
he  continued,  with  a  mild  oath,  "put  up  your 
swords.  It  were  a  shame  to  waste  time  In 
private  quarrelling.  They  may  be  needed  all 
too  soon  in  Cochin  China,  or,  for, the  matter  of 
that,"  he  added  sadly,  "in  Cambodia  or  in 
Dutch  Guiana." 

"Frogwater,"  said  young  Lord  Dogwood, 
with  a  generous  flush,  "I  was  wrong.  Wynch- 
gate, your  hand." 

The  two  noblemen  shook  hands. 

"My  friends,"  said  Lord  Wynchgate,  "In 
asking  you  to  abandon  our  game,  I  had  an  end 
26 


Winsome  Winnie 


in  view.     I  ask  your  help  in  an  affair  of  the 
heart'' 

"Ha!  excellent!"  exclaimed  the  five  noble- 
men.    *'We  are  with  you  heart  and  soul." 

"I  propose  this  night,"  continued  Wynchgate, 
*'with  your  help  to  carry  off  a  young  girl,  a 
female!" 

"An  abduction!"  exclaimed  the  Ambassador 
somewhat  sternly.  "Wynchgate,  I  cannot 
countenance  this." 

"Mistake  me  not,"  said  the  Earl,  "I  intend 
to  abduce  her.  But  I  propose  nothing  dis- 
honourable. It  is  my  firm  resolve  to  offer  her 
marriage." 

"Then,"  said  Lord  Frogwater,  "I  am  with 
you." 

"Gentlemen,''  concluded  Wynchgate,  "all  is 
ready.  A  coach  is  below.  I  have  provided 
masks,  pistols,  and  black  cloaks.     Follow  me." 

A  few  moments  later,  a  coach,  with  the 
blinds  drawn,  in  which  were  six  noblemen 
armed  to  the  teeth,  might  have  been  seen,  were 
it  not  for  the  darkness,  approaching  the  humble 
lodging  in  which  Winnif  red  Clair  was  sheltered. 

27 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


But  what  It  did  when  it  got  there  we  must 
leave  to  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  ABDUCTION 

The  hour  was  twenty  minutes  to  ten  on  the 
evening  described  in  our  last  chapter. 

Winnifred  Clair  was  seated,  still  fully 
dressed,  at  the  window  of  the  bedroom  looking 
out  over  the  great  city. 

A  light  tap  came  at  the  door. 

*'If  it's  a  fried  egg,"  called  Winnifred  softly, 
"I  do  not  need  it.     I  ate  yesterday." 

"No,"  said  the  voice  of  the  landlady.  "You 
are  wanted  below." 

"I!"  exclaimed  Winnifred,  "below!" 

"You,"  said  the  landlady,  "below.  A  party 
of  gentlemen  have  called  for  you." 

"Gentlemen,"  exclaimed  Winnifred,  putting 
her  hand  to  her  brow  in  perplexity,  "for  me !  at 
this  late  hour!  Here!  This  evening!  In  this 
house?" 

28 


Winsome  Winnie 


"Yes,"  repeated  the  landlady,  "six  gentle- 
men. They  arrived  in  a  closed  coach.  They  are 
all  closely  masked  and  heavily  armed.  They 
beg  you  will  descend  at  once." 

"Just  Heaven!"  cried  the  Unhappy  Girl. 
"Is  it  possible  that  they  mean  to  abduce  me?" 

"They  do,"  said  the  landlady.  "They  said 
so!" 

"Alas!"  cried  Winnifred,  "I  am  powerless. 
Tell  them" — she  hesitated — "tell  them  I  will 
be  down  immediately.  Let  them  not  come  up. 
Keep  them  below  on  any  pretext.  Show  them 
an  album.  Let  them  look  at  the  gold  fish. 
Anything,  but  not  here !  I  shall  be  ready  in  a 
moment." 

Feverishly  she  made  herself  ready.  As 
hastily  as  possible  she  removed  all  traces  of 
tears  from  her  face.  She  threw  about  her 
shoulders  an  opera  cloak,  and  with  a  light 
Venetian  scarf  half  concealed  the  beauty  of  her 
hair  and  features.  "Abduced!"  she  mur- 
mured, "and  by  six  of  them!  I  think  she  said 
six.  Oh!  the  horror  of  it!"  A  touch  of 
powder  to  her  cheeks  and  a  slight  blackening 
29 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


of  her  eyebrows,  and  the  courageous  girl  was 
ready. 

Lord  Wynchgate  and  his  companions — for 
they  it  was,  that  is  to  say,  they  were  it — sat 
below  in  the  sitting  room  looking  at  the  albums. 
"Woman,"  said  Lord  Wynchgate  to  the  land- 
lady with  an  oath,  "let  her  hurry  up.  We  have 
seen  enough  of  these.     We  can  wait  no  longer." 

"I  am  here,"  cried  a  clear  voice  upon  the 
threshold,  and  Winnifred  stood  before  them. 
"My  lords,  for  I  divine  who  you  are  and  where- 
fore you  have  come,  take  me,  do  your  worst 
with  me,  but  spare,  oh  spare !  this  humble  com- 
panion of  my  sorrow." 

"Right-oh!"  said  Lord  Dogwood,  with  a 
brutal  laugh. 

"Enough,"  exclaimed  Wynchgate,  and  seiz- 
ing Winnifred  by  the  wrist  he  dragged  her 
forth  out  of  the  house  and  out  upon  the  street. 

But  something  in  the  brutal  violence  of  his 
behaviour  seemed  to  kindle  for  the  moment  a 
spark  of  manly  feeling,  if  such  there  were,  in 
the  breasts  of  his  companions. 

"Wynchgate,"  cried  young  Lord  Dogwood, 

30 


Winsome  Winnie 


*'my  mind  misgives  me.  I  doubt  if  this  is  a 
gentlemanly  thing  to  do.  I'll  have  no  further 
hand  in  it." 

A  chorus  of  approval  from  his  companions 
endorsed  his  utterance.  For  a  moment  they 
hesitated. 

"Nay,"  cried  Winnifred,  turning  to  confront 
the  masked  faces  that  stood  about  her,  *'Go 
forward  with  your  fell  design.  I  am  here.  I 
am  helpless.  Let  no  prayers  stay  your  hand. 
Go  to  it." 

"Have  done  with  this!"  cried  Wynchgate 
with  a  brutal  oath.      "Shove  her  in  the  coach." 

But  at  the  very  moment  the  sound  of  hurry- 
ing footsteps  was  heard  and  a  clear,  ringing, 
masly,  well-toned,  vibrating  voice  cried,  "Hold! 
Stop!  Desist!  Have  a  care,  titled  villain,  or  I 
will  strike  you  to  the  earth." 

A  tall  aristocratic  form  bounded  out  of  the 
darkness. 

"Gentlemen,"  cried  Wynchgate,  releasing  his 
hold  upon  the  frightened  girl,  "we  are  betrayed. 
Save  yourselves.     To  the  coach." 

In   another   instant   the   six  noblemen   had 

31 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


leaped  into  the  coach  and  disappeared  down  the 
street. 

Winnlfred,  still  half  inanimate  with  fright, 
turned  to  her  rescuer  and  saw  before  her  the 
form  and  lineaments  of  the  Unknown  Stranger 
who  had  thus  twice  stood  between  her  and 
disaster.  Half  fainting,  she  fell  swooning  into 
his  arms. 

"Dear  lady,"  he  exclaimed,  "rouse  yourself. 
You  are  safe.  Let  me  restore  you  to  your 
home!" 

"That  voice!"  cried  Winnifred,  resuming 
consciousness.     "It  is  my  benefactor." 

She  would  have  swooned  again,  but  the  Un- 
known lifted  her  bodily  up  the  steps  of  her 
home  and  leant  her  against  the  door. 

"Farewell,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  resonant  with 
gloom. 

"Oh,  sir!"  cried  the  unhappy  girl,  "let  one 
who  owes  so  much  to  one  who  has  saved  her 
in  her  hour  of  need  at  least  know  his  name." 

But  the  stranger,  with  a  mournful  gesture 
of  farewell,  had  disappeared  as  rapidly  as  he 
had  come. 

32 


Winsome  Winnie 


But  as  to  why  he  had  disappeared,  we  must 
ask  our  reader's  patience  for  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   UNKNOWN 

The  scene  Is  now  shifted,  sideways  and  for- 
wards, so  as  to  put  It  at  Muddlenut  Chase, 
and  to  make  It  a  fortnight  later  than  the  events 
related  In  the  last  chapter. 

WInnlfred  Is  now  at  the  Chase  as  the  guest 
of  the  Marquis  and  Marchioness.  There  her 
bruised  soul  finds  peace. 

The  Chase  Itself  was  one  of  those  typical 
country  homes  which  are,  or  were  till  yester- 
day, the  glory  of  England.  The  approach  to 
the  Chase  lay  through  twenty  miles  of  glorious 
forest,  filled  with  fallow  deer  and  wild  bulls. 
The  house  itself,  dating  from  the  time  of  the 
Plantagenets,  was  surrounded  by  a  moat  cov- 
ered with  broad  lilies  and  floating  green  scum. 
Magnificent  peacocks  sunned  themselves  on  the 
terraces,  while  from  the  surrounding  shrub- 
33 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


beries  there  rose  the  soft  murmur  of  doves, 
pigeons,  bats,  owls  and  partridges. 

Here  sat  Winnifred  Clair  day  after  day 
upon  the  terrace  recovering  her  strength,  under 
the  tender  solicitude  of  the  Marchioness. 

Each  day  the  girl  urged  upon  her  noble 
hostess  the  necessity  of  her  departure.  "Nay," 
said  the  Marchioness,  with  gentle  insistence, 
*'stay  where  you  are.  Your  soul  is  bruised. 
You  must  rest." 

"Alas!"  cried  Winnifred,  "who  am  I  that  I 
should  rest?  Alone,  despised,  buffeted  by  fate, 
what  right  have  I  to  your  kindness?" 

"Miss  Clair,"  replied  the  noble  lady,  "wait 
till  you  are  stronger.  There  is  something  that 
I  wish  to  say  to  you." 

Then  at  last  one  morning  when  Winnifred's 
temperature  had  fallen  to  ninety-eight  point 
three,  the  Marchioness  spoke. 

"Miss  Clair,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which 
throbbed  with  emotion, — "Winnifred,  if  I  may 
so  call  you.  Lord  Muddlenut  and  I  have 
formed  a  plan  for  your  future.  It  is  our 
dearest  wish  that  you  should  marry  our  son." 
34 


Winsome  Winnie 


*'Alas!'^  cried  WInnifred,  while  tears  rose 
in  her  eyes,  "it  cannot  be!" 

"Say  not  so,"  cried  the  Marchioness.  "Our 
son,  Lord  Mordaunt  Muddlenut,  is  young, 
handsome,  all  that  a  girl  could  desire.  After 
months  of  wandering  he  returns  to  us  this 
morning.  It  is  our  dearest  wish  to  see  him' 
married  and  established.  We  offer  you  his 
hand." 

"Indeed,"  replied  Winnifred,  while  her  tears 
fell  even  more  freely,  "I  seem  to  requite  but 
ill  the  kindness  that  you  show.  Alas!  my 
heart  is  no  longer  In  my  keeping." 

"Where  is  it?"  cried  the  Marchioness. 

"It  is  another's.  One  whose  very  name  I  do 
not  know,  holds  it  in  his  keeping." 

But  at  this  moment  a  blithe,  gladsome  step 
was  heard  upon  the  flagstones  of  the  terrace. 
A  manly,  ringing  voice  which  sent  a  thrill  to 
Winnifred's  heart,  cried  "Mother!"  and  in 
another  instant  Lord  Mordaunt  Muddlenut, 
for  he  it  was,  had  folded  the  Marchioness  to 
his  heart. 

Winnifred  rose,   her  heart  beating  wildly. 
35 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


One  glance  was  enough.  The  newcomer,  Lord 
Mordaunt,  was  none  other  than  the  Unknown, 
the  Unaccountable,  to  whose  protection  she  had 
twice  owed  her  life. 

With  a  wild  cry  Winnlfred  Clair  leaped 
across  the  flagstones  of  the  terrace  and  fled 
into  the  park. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   PROPOSAL 

They  stood  beneath  the  great  trees  of  the 
ancestral  park.  Into  which  Lord  Mordaunt  had 
followed  Winnlfred  at  a  single  bound.  All 
about  them  was  the  radiance  of  early  June. 

Lord  Mordaunt  knelt  on  one  knee  on  the 
greensward,  and  with  a  touch  In  which  respect 
and  reverence  were  mingled  with  the  deepest 
and  manliest  emotion,  he  took  between  his 
finger  and  thumb  the  tip  of  the  girl's  gloved 
hand. 

*'MIss  Clair,"  he  uttered,  in  a  voice  suffused 
with  the  deepest  yearning,  yet  vibrating  with 

36 


Winsome  Winnie 


the  most  profound  respect,  "Miss  Clair — 
Winnifred — hear  me,  I  implore!" 

"Alas,"  cried  Winnifred,  struggling  In  vain 
to  disengage  the  tip  of  her  glove  from  the  im- 
petuous clasp  of  the  young  nobleman,  "Alas! 
whither  can  I  fly!  I  do  not  know  my  way 
through  the  wood  and  there  are  bulls  in  all 
directions.  I  am  not  used  to  them!  Lord 
Mordaunt,  I  implore  you,  let  the  tears  of  one 
but  little  skilled  in  the  art  of  dissimula- 
tion  " 

"'Nay,  Winnifred,"  said  the  Young  Earl, 
"fly  not.     Hear  me  out!" 

"Let  me  fly,"  begged  the  unhappy  girl. 

"You  must  not  fly,"  pleaded  Mordaunt. 
"Let  me  first,  here  upon  bended  knee  convey  to 
you  the  expression  of  a  devotion,  a  love,  as 
ardent  and  as  deep  as  ever  burned  in  a  human 
heart.     Winnifred!  be  my  bride!" 

"Oh,  sir,"  sobbed  Winnifred,  "If  the  knowl- 
edge of  a  gratitude,  a  thankfulness  from  one 
whose  heart  will  ever  treasure  as  its  proudest 
memory  the  recollection  of  one  who  did  for  one 
all  that  one  could  have  want|d  done  for  one, 

37 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


if  this  be  some  poor  guerdon,  let  it  suffice.  But, 
alas,  my  birth,  the  dark  secret  of  my  birth  for- 
bids  " 

"Nay,"  cried  Mordaunt,  leaping  now  to  his 
feet,  "your  birth  is  all  right.  I  have  looked 
into  it  myself.  It  is  as  good — or  nearly  as 
good — as  my  own.  Till  I  knew  this,  my  lips 
were  sealed  by  duty.  While  I  supposed  that 
you  had  a  lower  birth  and  I  an  upper,  I  was 
bound  to  silence.  But  come  with  me  to  the 
house.  There  is  one  arrived  with  me  who  will 
explain  all." 

Hand  in  hand  the  lovers,  for  such  they  now 
were,  returned  to  the  Chase.  There  in  the 
great  hall  the  Marquis  and  the  Marchioness 
were  standing  ready  to  greet  them. 

"My  child!"  exclaimed  the  noble  lady,  as  she 
folded  Winnifred  to  her  heart. 

Then  she  turned  to  her  son.  "Let  her  know 
all!"  she  cried. 

Lord  Mordaunt  stepped  across  the  room  to 
a  curtain.     He  drew  it  aside,  and  there  stepped 
forth  Mr.  Bonehead,  the  old  lawyer  who  had 
cast  Winnifred  upon  the  world. 
38 


Winsome  Winnie 


"Miss  Clair,"  said  the  lawyer,  advancing 
and  taking  the  girl's  hand  for  a  moment  In  a 
kindly  clasp,  "The  time  has  come  for  me  to  ex- 
plain all.  You  are  not,  you  never  were,  the 
penniless  girl  that  you  suppose.  Under  the 
terms  of  your  father's  will,  I  was  called  upon 
to  act  a  part  and  to  throw  you  upon  the  world. 
It  was  my  client's  wish,  and  I  followed  it.  I 
told  you,  quite  truthfully,  that  I  had  put  part 
of  your  money  Into  options  In  an  oil  well.  Miss 
Clair,  that  well  Is  now  producing  a  million 
gallons  of  gasoline  a  month!" 

"A  million  gallons!"  cried  WInnlfred.  "I 
can  never  use  It." 

"Wait  till  you  own  a  motor  car,  Miss  WInnl- 
fred," said  the  lawyer. 

"Then  I  am  rich!"  exclaimed  the  bewildered 
girl. 

"Rich  beyond  your  dreams,"  answered  the 
lawyer.  "Miss  Clair,  you  own  In  your  own 
right  about  half  of  the  State  of  Texas^ — I  think 
it  is  Texas,  at  any  rate  either  Texas  or  Rhode 
Island,  or  one  of  those  big  states  in  America. 
More  than  this,  I  have  invested  your  property 
39 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


since  your  father's  death  so  wisely  that  even 
after  paying  the  Income  tax  and  the  property 
tax,  the  Inheritance  tax,  the  dog  tax  and  the  tax 
on  amusements  you  will  still  have  one  half  of 
one  per  cent,  to  spend." 

Winnlfred  clasped  her  hands. 

"I  knew  It  all  the  time,"  said  Lord  Mor- 
daunt,  drawing  the  girl  to  his  embrace,  *'I  found 
it  out  through  this  good  man." 

*'We  knew  it  too,"  said  the  Marchioness. 
"Can  you  forgive  us,  darling,  our  little  plot  for 
your  welfare.  Had  we  not  done  this  Mor- 
daunt  might  have  had  to  follow  you  over  to 
America  and  chase  you  all  around  Newport 
and  Narragansett  at  a  fearful  expense." 

"How  can  I  thank  you  enough?"  cried 
Winnlfred.  Then  she  added  eagerly,  "And 
my  birth,  my  descent?" 

"It  Is  all  right,"  interjected  the  Old  Lawyer. 
"It  is  A-i.  Your  father,  who  died  before 
you  were  born,  quite  a  little  time  before,  be- 
longed to  the  very  highest  peerage  of  Wales. 
You  are  descended  directly  from  Claer-ap- 
Claer,  who  murdered  Owen  Glendower.  Your 
40 


Winsome  Winnie 


mother  we  are  still  tracing  up.  But  we  have 
already  connected  her  with  Floyd-ap-Floyd 
who  murdered  Prince  Llewellyn." 

*'0h,  sir,"  cried  the  grateful  girl.  *'I  only 
hope  I  may  prove  worthy  of  them!" 

"One  thing  more,"  said  Lord  Mordaunt, 
and  stepping  over  to  another  curtain  he  drew 
It  aside  and  there  emerged  Lord  Wynchgate. 

He  stood  before  WInnlfred,  a  manly  con- 
trition struggling  upon  features  which,  but  for 
the  evil  courses  of  him  who  wore  them,  might 
have  been  almost  presentable. 

"Miss  Clair,"  he  said,  "I  ask  your  pardon. 
I  tried  to  carry  you  off.  I  never  will  again. 
But  before  we  part  let  me  say  that  my  ac- 
quaintance with  you  has  made  me  a  better  man, 
broader,  bigger  and,  I  hope,  deeper." 

With  a  profound  bow.  Lord  Wynchgate  took 
his  leave. 

CHAPTER  IX 

WEDDED  AT  LAST 

Lord  Mordaunt  and  his  bride  were  married 
forthwith  in  the  parish  church  of  Muddlenut 
41 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


Chase.  With  WInnlfred's  money  they  have 
drained  the  moat,  rebuilt  the  Chase,  and 
chased  the  bulls  out  of  the  park.  They  have 
six  children,  so  far,  and  are  respected,  hon- 
oured and  revered  In  the  countryside  far  and 
wide,  over  a  radius  of  twenty  miles  in  circum- 
ference. 


42 


// 

JOHN  AND  I 

OR,  How  I  Nearly  Lost  My  Husband 

{Narrated  after  the  approved  fashion  of  the 

best  Heart  and  Home  Magazines) 


II, — John  and  I:  or^  How  I  Nearly  Lost 
My  Husband 

IT  was  after  we  had  been  married  about 
two  years  that  I  began  to   feel  that  I 
needed  more  air.     Every  time  I  looked 
at  John  across  the  breakfast  table,  I  felt 
as  if  I  must  have  more  air,  more  space. 

I  seemed  to  feel  as  if  I  had  no  room  to  ex- 
pand. I  had  begun  to  ask  myself  whether  I 
had  been  wise  in  marrying  John,  whether  John 
was  really  sufficient  for  my  development.  I 
felt  cramped  and  shut  in.  In  spite  of  myself 
the  question  would  arise  in  my  mind  whether 
John  really  understood  my  nature.  He  had  a 
way  of  reading  the  newspaper,  propped  up 
against  the  sugar  bowl,  at  breakfast,  that  some- 
how made  me  feel  as  if  things  had  gone  all 
wrong.  It  was  bitter  to  realize  that  the  time 
had  come  when  John  could  prefer  the  news- 
paper to  his  wife's  society. 


45 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


But  perhaps  I  had  better  go  back  and  tell 
the  whole  miserable  story  from  the  beginning. 

I  shall  never  forget — I  suppose  no  woman 
ever  does — the  evening  when  John  first  spoke 
out  his  love  for  me.  I  had  felt  for  some  time 
past  that  it  was  there.  Again  and  again,  he 
seemed  about  to  speak.  But  somehow  his 
words  seemed  to  fail  him.  Twice  I  took  him 
into  the  very  heart  of  the  little  wood  beside 
mother's  house,  but  it  was  only  a  small  wood 
and  somehow  he  slipped  out  on  the  other  side. 
*'0h,  John,''  I  had  said,  "how  lonely  and  still 
it  seems  in  the  wood  with  no  one  here  but  our- 
selves. Do  you  think,"  I  said,  "that  the  birds 
have  souls?"  "I  don't  know,"  John  answered, 
"let's  get  out  of  this."  I  was  sure  that  his 
emotion  was  too  strong  for  him.  "I  never 
feel  a  bit  lonesome  where  you  are,  John,"  I 
said,  as  we  made  our  way  among  the  under- 
brush. "I  think  we  can  get  out  down  that 
little  gully,"  he  answered.  Then  one  evening 
in  June  after  tea  I  led  John  down  a  path  beside 
the  house  to  a  little  corner  behind  the  garden 
where  there  was  a  stone  wall  on  one  side  and  a 

46 


John  and  I 


high  fence  right  in  front  of  us,  and  thorn  bushes 
on  the  other  side.  There  was  a  little  bench  in 
the  angle  of  the  wall  and  the  fence,  and  we  sat 
down  on  it. 

^'Minnie,'*  John  said,  ^'there's  something  I 
meant  to  say " 

*'0h,  John,"  I  cried,  and  I  flung  my  arms 
round  his  neck.  It  all  came  with  such  a  flood 
of  surprise. 

"All  I  meant,  Minn, — ''  John  went  on,  but 
I  checked  him. 

''Oh,  don't  John,  don't  say  anything  more," 
I  said.  "It's  just  too  perfect."  Then  I  rose 
and  seized  him  by  the  wrist.  "Come,"  I  said, 
"come  to  mother,"  and  I  rushed  him  along  the 
path. 

As  soon  as  mother  saw  us  come  in  hand  in 
hand  in  this  way,  she  guessed  everything.  She 
threw  both  her  arms  round  John's  neck  and 
fairly  pinned  him  against  the  wall.  John  tried 
to  speak  but  mother  wouldn't  let  him.  "I  saw 
it  all  along,  John,"  she  said.  "Don't  speak. 
Don't  say  a  word.  I  guessed  your  love  for 
Minn  from  the  very  start.  I  don't  know  what 
47 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


I  shall  do  without  her,  John,  but  she's  yours 
now;  take  her."  Then  mother  began  to  cry 
and  I  couldn't  help  crying  too.  "Take  him  to 
father,"  mother  said,  and  we  each  took  one  of 
John's  wrists  and  took  him  to  father  on  the 
back  vefandah.  As  soon  as  John  saw  father 
he  tried  to  speak  again — "I  think  I  ought  to' 
say,"  he  began,  but  mother  stopped  him. 
"Father,"  she  said,  "he  wants  to  take  our  little 
girl  away.  He  loves  her  very  dearly,  Alfred," 
she  said,  "and  I  think  It  our  duty  to  let  her  go, 
no  matter  how  hard  it  is,  and  Oh!  please 
Heaven,  Alfred,  he'll  treat  her  well  and  not 
misuse  her,  or  beat  her,"  and  she  began  to  sob 
again. 

Father  got  up  and  took  John  by  the  hand 
and  shook  It  warmly.  "Take  her,  boy,"  he 
said.     "She's  all  yours  now,  take  her." 

So  John  and  I  were  engaged  and  in  due 
time  our  wedding  day  came  and  we  were  mar- 
ried. I  remember  that  for  days  and  days 
before  the  wedding  day,  John  seemed  very 
nervous  and  depressed;  I  think  he  was  worry- 
48 


John  and  I 


ing,  poor  boy,  as  to  whether  he  could  really 
make  me  happy  and  whether  he  could  fill  my 
life  as  it  should  be  filled.  But  I  told  him  that 
he  was  not  to  worry  because  I  meant  to  be 
happy,  and  was  determined  just  to  make  the 
best  of  everything. 

Father  stayed  with  John  a  good  deal  before 
the  wedding  day,  and  on  the  wedding  morning 
he  went  and  fetched  him  to  the  church  in  a 
closed  carriage  and  had  him  there  all  ready 
when  we  came.  It  was  a  beautiful  day  in 
September,  and  the  church  looked  just  lovely. 
I  had  a  beautiful  gown  of  white  organdy  with 
tulle  at  the  throat,  and  I  carried  a  great  bunch 
of  white  roses,  and  father  led  John  up  the  aisle 
after  me. 

I  remember  that  mother  cried  a  good  deal 
at  the  wedding  and  told  John  that  he  had 
stolen  her  darling  and  that  he  must  never  mis- 
use me  or  beat  me.  And  I  remember  that  the 
clergyman  spoke  very  severely  to  John  and  told 
him  he  hoped  he  realized  the  responsibility  he 
was  taking  and  that  it  was  his  duty  to  make  me 
happy.  A  lot  of  our  old  friends  were  there 
49 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


and  they  all  spoke  quite  sharply  to  John  and 
all  the  women  kissed  me  and  said  they  hoped  I 
would  never  regret  what  I  had  done,  and  I  just 
kept  up  my  spirits  by  sheer  determination  and 
told  them  that  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  be 
happy  and  that  I  was  going  to  be  so. 

So  presently  it  was  all  over  and  we  were 
driven  to  the  station  and  got  the  afternoon 
train  for  New  York,  and  when  we  sat  down 
in  the  compartment  among  all  our  bandboxes 
and  flowers,  John  said,  ^'Well,  thank  God, 
that's  over."  And  I  said,  "Oh !  John,  an  oath ! 
on  our  wedding  day,  an  oath!"  John  said, 
"I'm  sorry,  Minn,  I  didn't  mean — "  but  I  said, 
"Don't,  John,  don't  make  it  worse.  Swear  at 
me  if  you  must,  but  don't  make  it  harder  to 
bear." 

:f:  :ic  ^  ^  H:  3{c  :|c 

We  Spent  our  honeymoon  in  New  York.  At 
first  I  had  thought  of  going  somewhere  to  the 
great  lonely  woods,  where  I  could  have  walked 
under  the  great  trees,  and  felt  the  silence  of 
nature,  and  where  John  should  have  been  my 
Viking  and  captured  me  with  his  spear,  and 

50 


John  and  I 


where  I  should  be  his  and  his  alone  and  no 
other  man  should  share  me;  and  John  had  said 
all  right.  Or  else  I  had  planned  to  go  away 
somewhere  to  the  seashore  where  I  could  have 
watched  the  great  waves  dashing  themselves 
against  the  rocks.  I  had  told  John  that  he 
should  be  my  cave  man,  and  should  seize  me  in 
his  arms  and  carry  me  whither  he  would.  I 
felt  somehow  that  for  my  development  I 
wanted  to  get  as  close  to  nature  as  ever  I  could 
— that  my  mind  seemed  to  be  reaching  out  for 
a  great  emptiness.  But  I  looked  over  all  the 
hotel  and  steamship  folders  I  could  find  and  it 
seemed  impossible  to  get  good  accommodation, 
so  we  came  to  New  York.  I  had  a  great  deal 
of  shopping  to  do  for  our  new  house,  so  I  could 
not  be  much  with  John,  but  I  felt  it  was  not 
right  to  neglect  him  so  I  drove  him  somewhere 
in  a  taxi  each  morning  and  called  for  him  again 
in  the  evening.  One  day  I  took  him  to  the 
Metropolitan  Museum,  and  another  day  I  left 
him  at  the  Zoo,  and  another  day  at  the 
aquarium.  John  seemed  very  happy  and  quiet 
among  the  fishes. 

51 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


So  presently  we  came  back  home  and  I  spent 
many  busy  days  in  fixing  and  arranging  our  new 
house.  I  had  the  drawing  room  done  in  blue, 
and  the  dining  room  all  in  dark  panelled  wood, 
and  a  boudoir  upstairs  done  in  pink  and  white 
enamel  to  match  my  bedroom  and  dressing 
room.  There  was  a  very  nice  little  room  in  the 
basement  next  to  the  coal  cellar  that  I  turned 
into  a  "den"  for  John,  so  that  when  he  wanted 
to  smoke  he  could  go  down  there  and  do  it. 
John  seemed  to  appreciate  his  den  at  once,  and 
often  would  stay  down  there  so  long  that  I  had 
to  call  to  him  to  come  up. 

When  I  look  back  on  those  days  they  seem 
very  bright  and  happy.  But  It  was  not  very 
long  before  a  change  came.  I  began  to  realize 
that  John  was  neglecting  me.  I  noticed  it  at 
first  in  small  things.  I  don't  know  just  how 
long  it  was  after  our  marriage  that  John  began 
to  read  the  newspaper  at  breakfast.  At  first 
he  would  only  pick  it  up  and  read  it  in  little 
bits  and  only  on  the  front  page.  I  tried  not 
to  be  hurt  at  it,  and  would  go  on  talking  just 
as  brightly  as  I  could  without  seeming  to  notice 
52 


John  and  I 


anything.  But  presently  he  went  on  to  reading 
the  inside  part  of  the  paper,  and  then  one  day 
he  opened  up  the  financial  page  and  folded  the 
paper  right  back  and  leant  it  against  the  sugar 
bowl. 

I  could  not  but  wonder  whether  John's  love 
for  me  was  what  it  had  been.  Was  it  cooling? 
I  asked  myself.  And  what  was  cooling  it? 
It  hardly  seemed  possible  when  I  looked  back 
to  the  wild  passion  with  which  he  had  proposed 
to  me  on  the  garden  bench,  that  John's  love 
was  waning.  But  I  kept  noticing  different 
little  things.  One  day  in  the  spring  time  I  saw 
John  getting  out  a  lot  of  fishing  tackle  from  a 
box  and  fitting  it  together.  I  asked  him  what 
he  was  going  to  do,  and  he  said  that  he  was 
going  to  fish.  I  went  to  my  room  and  had  a 
good  cry.  It  seemed  dreadful  that  he  could 
neglect  his  wife  for  a  few  worthless  fish. 

So  I  decided  to  put  John  to  the  test.  It  had 
been  my  habit  every  morning  after  he  put  his 
coat  on  to  go  to  the  oflfice  to  let  John  have  one 
kiss,  just  one  weeny  kiss,  to  keep  him  happy  all 
day.     So  this  day  when  he  was  getting  ready  I 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


bent  my  head  over  a  big  bowl  of  flowers  and 

pretended  not  to  notice.   I  think  John  must  have 

been  hurt  as  I  heard  him  steal  out  on  tip  toe. 

Well  I  realized  that  things  had  come  to  a 

dreadful  state,  and  so  I  sent  over  to  mother 

and   mother   came    and   we   had    a    good   cry 

together.     I  made  up  my  mind  to  force  myself 

to  face  things  and  just  to  be  as  bright  as  ever 

I   could.     Mother   and   I   both   thought   that 

things  would  be  better  if  I  tried  all  I  could  to 

make  something  out  of  John.     I  have  always 

felt  that  every  woman  should  make  all  that  she 

can  out  of  her  husband.     So  I  did  my  best  first 

of  all  to  straighten  up  John's  appearance.     I 

shifted  the  style  of  collar  he  was  wearing  to  a 

tighter  kind  that  I  liked  better,  and  I  brushed 

his  hair  straight  backward  instead  of  forward, 

which    gave    him    a    much    more    alert   look. 

Mother  said  that  John  needed  waking  up,  and 

so  we  did  all  we  could  to  wake  him  up.     Mother 

came  over  to  stay  with  me  a  good  deal,  and  in 

the  evenings  we  generally  had  a  little  music  or 

a  game  of  cards. 
******* 


54 


John  and  I 


About  this  time  another  difficulty  began  to 
come  Into  my  married  life,  which  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  have  foreseen.  I  mean  the  attentions 
of  other  gentlemen.  I  have  always  called 
forth  a  great  deal  of  admiration  In  gentlemen, 
but  I  have  always  done  my  best  to  act  like  a 
lady  and  to  discourage  it  in  every  possible  way. 
I  had  been  innocent  enough  to  suppose  that  this 
would  end  with  married  life,  and  it  gave  me  a 
dreadful  shock  to  realize  that  such  was  not  the 
case.  The  first  one  I  noticed  was  a  young  man 
who  came  to  the  house,  at  an  hour  when  John 
was  out,  for  the  purpose,  so  he  said  at  least, 
of  reading  the  gas  meter.  He  looked  at  me  in 
just  the  boldest  way  and  asked  me  to  show  him 
the  way  to  the  cellar.  I  don't  know  whether 
it  was  a  pretext  or  not,  but  I  just  summoned  all 
the  courage  I  had  and  showed  him  to  the  head 
of  the  cellar  stairs.  I  had  determined  that  if 
he  tried  to  carry  me  down  with  him  I  would 
scream  for  the  servants,  but  I  suppose  some- 
thing in  my  manner  made  him  desist  and  he 
went  alone.  When  he  came  up  he  professed 
to  have  read  the  meter  and  he  left  the  house 
55 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


quite  quietly.  But  I  thought  it  wiser  to  say 
nothing  to  John  of  what  had  happened. 

There  were  others  too.  There  was  a  young 
man  with  large  brown  eyes  who  came  and  said 
he  had  been  sent  to  tune  the  piano.  He  came 
on  three  separate  days  and  he  bent  his  ear  over 
the  keys  in  such  a  mournful  way  that  I  knew 
he  must  have  fallen  in  love  with  me.  On  the 
last  day  he  offered  to  tune  my  harp  for  a  dollar 
extra,  but  I  refused  and  when  I  asked  him  in- 
stead to  tune  mother's  mandolin  he  said  he 
didn't  know  how.  Of  course  I  told  John 
nothing  of  all  this. 

Then  there  was  Mr.  McQueen,  who  came 
to  the  house  several  times  to  play  cribbage  with 
John.  He  had  been  desperately  in  love  with 
me  years  before,  at  least  I  remember  his  taking 
me  home  from  a  hockey  match  once  and  what 
a  struggle  it  was  for  him  not  to  come  into  the 
parlor  and  see  mother  for  a  few  minutes  when 
I  asked  him;  and  though  he  was  married  now 
and  with  three  children,  I  felt  sure  when  he 
came  to  play  cribbage  with  John  that  It  meant 
something.     He  was  very  discreet  and  honor- 

56 


John  and  I 


able  and  never  betrayed  himself  for  a  moment, 
and  I  acted  my  part  as  if  there  was  nothing  at 
all  behind.  But  one  night  when  he  came  over 
to  play  and  John  had  had  to  go  out,  he  refused 
to  stay  even  for  an  instant.  He  had  got  his 
overshoes  off  before  I  told  him  that  John  was 
out,  and  asked  him  if  he  wouldn't  come  into 
the  parlor  and  hear  mother  play  the  mandolin, 
but  he  just  made  one  dive  for  his  overshoes  and 
was  gone.  I  knew  that  he  didn't  dare  to  trust 
himself. 

Then  presently  a  new  trouble  came.  I 
began  to  suspect  that  John  was  drinking.  I 
don't  mean  for  a  moment  that  he  was  drunk, 
or  that  he  was  openly  cruel  to  me.  But  at 
times  he  seemed  to  act  so  queerly  and  I  noticed 
that  one  night  when  by  accident  I  left  a  bottle 
of  raspberry  vinegar  on  the  sideboard  over 
night,  it  was  all  gone  in  the  morning.  Two 
or  three  times  when  McQueen  and  John  were 
to  play  cribbage,  John  would  fetch  home  two 
or  three  bottles  of  bevo  with  him  and  they 
would  sit  sipping  all  evening. 

I  think  he  was  drinking  bevo  by  himself, 
57 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


too,  though  I  could  never  be  sure  of  it.  At  any 
rate  he  often  seemed  queer  and  restless  in  the 
evenings,  and  instead  of  staying  in  his  den  he 
would  wander  all  over  the  house.  Once  we 
heard  him — I  mean  mother  and  I  and  two  lady 
friends  who  were  with  us  that  evening — quite 
late  (after  ten  o'clock)  apparently  moving 
about  in  the  pantry.  "John,"  I  called,  ''is  that 
you?"  "Yes,  Minn,"  he  answered,  quietly 
enough,  I  admit.  "What  are  you  doing 
there?"  I  asked.  "Looking  for  something  to 
eat,"  he  said.  "John,"  I  said,  "you  are  for- 
getting what  is  due  to  me  as  your  wife.  You 
were  fed  at  six.     Go  back." 

He  went.  But  yet  I  felt  more  and  more 
that  his  love  must  be  dwindling  to  make  him  act 
as  he  did.  I  thought  it  all  over  wearily  enough 
and  asked  myself  whether  I  had  done  every- 
thing I  should  to  hold  my  husband's  love.  I 
had  kept  him  in  at  nights.  I  had  cut  down  his 
smoking.  I  had  stopped  his  playing  cards. 
What  more  was  there  that  I  could  do? 

So  at  last  the  conviction  came  to  me  that  I 

58 


John  and  I 


must  go  away.  I  felt  that  I  must  get  away 
somewhere  and  think  things  out.  At  first  I 
thought  of  Palm  Beach,  but  the  season  had  not 
opened  and  I  felt  somehow  that  I  couldn't  wait. 
I  wanted  to  get  away  somewhere  by  myself 
and  just  face  things  as  they  were.  So  one 
morning  I  said  to  John,  *'John,  I  think  I'd  like 
to  go  off  somewhere  for  a  little  time,  just  to  be 
by  myself,  dear,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  ask 
to  come  with  me  or  to  follow  me,  but  just  let 
me  go."  John  said,  "All  right,  Minn.  When 
are  you  going  to  start?"  The  cold  brutality 
of  it  cut  me  to  the  heart,  and  I  went  upstairs 
and  had  a  good  cry  and  looked  over  steamship 
and  railroad  folders.  I  thought  of  Havana 
for  a  while,  because  the  pictures  of  the  harbour 
and  the  castle  and  the  queer  Spanish  streets 
looked  so  attractive,  but  then  I  was  afraid 
that  at  Havana  a  woman  alone  by  herself  might 
be  simply  persecuted  by  attentions  from  gen- 
tlemen. They  say  the  Spanish  temperament 
is  something  fearful.  So  I  decided  on  Ber- 
muda instead.  I  felt  that  m  a  beautiful,  quiet 
place  like  Bermuda  I  could  think  everything  all 

59 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


over  and  face  things,  and  it  said  on  the  folder 
that  there  was  always  at  least  two  English 
regiments  in  garrison  there,  and  the  English 
officers,  whatever  their  faults,  always  treat  a 
woman  with  the  deepest  respect. 

So  I  said  nothing  more  to  John,  but  in  the 
next  few  days  I  got  all  my  arrangements  made 
and  my  things  packed.  And  when  the  last 
afternoon  came  I  sat  down  and  wrote  John  a 
long  letter,  to  leave  on  my  boudoir  table,  telling 
him  that  I  had  gone  to  Bermuda.  I  told  him 
that  I  wanted  to  be  alone:  I  said  that  I  couldn't 
tell  when  I  would  be  back — that  it  might  be 
months,  or  it  might  be  years,  and  I  hoped  that 
he  would  try  to  be  as  happy  as  could  and  forget 
me  entirely,  and  to  send  me  money  on  the  first 
of  every  month. 

'F  *l^  *P  ^  3JC  3^  ^ 

Well  it  was  just  at  that  moment  that  one  of 
those  strange  coincidences  happen,  little  things 
in  themselves,  but  which  seem  to  alter  the  whole 
course  of  a  person's  life.  I  had  nearly  finished 
the  letter  to  John  that  I  was  to  leave  on  the 
writing  desk,  when  just  then  the  maid  came  up 
60 


John  and  I 


to  my  room  with  a  telegram.  It  was  for  John, 
but  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  open  it  and  read 
it  for  him  before  I  left.  And  I  nearly  fainted 
when  I  saw  that  it  was  from  a  lawyer  in  Ber- 
muda— of  all  places — and  it  said  that  a  legacy 
of  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  had  been  left 
to  John  by  an  uncle  of  his  who  had  died  there, 
and  asking  for  instructions  about  the  dis- 
position of  it. 

A  great  wave  seemed  to  sweep  over  me,  and 
all  the  wicked  thoughts  that  had  been  in  my 
mind — for  I  saw  now  that  they  were  wicked — 
were  driven  clean  away.  I  thought  how  com- 
pletely lost  poor  old  John  would  feel  if  all  this 
money  came  to  him  and  he  didn't  have  to  work 
any  more  and  had  no  one  at  his  side  to  help  and 
guide  him  in  using  it. 

I  tore  up  the  wicked  letter  I  had  written,  and 
I  hurried  as  fast  as  I  could  to  pack  up  a  valise 
with  John's  things  (my  own  were  packed 
already,  as  I  said) .  Then  presently  John  came 
in  and  I  broke  the  news  to  him  as  gently  and  as 
tenderly  as  I  could  about  his  uncle  having  left 
him  the  money  and  having  died.  I  told  him 
6i 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


that  I  had  found  out  all  about  the  trains  and 
the  Bermuda  steamer,  and  had  everything  all 
picked  and  ready  for  us  to  leave  at  once.  John 
seemed  a  little  dazed  about  it  all,  and  kept 
saying  that  his  uncle  had  taught  him  to  play 
tennis  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  he  was  very 
grateful  and  thankful  to  me  for  having  every- 
thing arranged  and  thought  it  wonderful. 

I  had  time  to  telephone  to  a  few  of  my 
women  friends,  and  they  just  managed  to  rush 
round  for  a  few  minutes  to  say  good-bye.  I 
couldn't  help  crying  a  little  when  I  told  them 
about  John's  uncle  dying  so  far  away  with  none 
of  us  near  him,  and  I  told  them  about  the  legacy 
and  they  cried  a  little  to  hear  of  it  all;  and  when 
I  told  them  that  John  and  I  might  not  come 
back  direct  from  Bermuda,  but  might  take  a 
run  over  to  Europe  first,  they  all  cried  some 
more. 

We  left  for  New  York  that  evening  and  after 
we  had  been  to  Bermuda  and  arranged  about  a 
suitable  monument  for  John's  uncle  and  col- 
lected the  money,  we  sailed  for  Europe. 
62 


John  and  I 


All  through  the  happy  time  that  has  fol- 
lowed, I  like  to  think  that  through  all  our 
trials  and  difficulties  affliction  brought  us  safely 
together  at  last. 


63 


/// 

THE  SPLIT  IN  THE 
CABINET 

OR,  The  Fate  of  England 
{A  political  novel  of  the  Days  that  Were) 


III. — The  Split  in  the  Cabinet:  or,  the 
Fate  of  England 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  fate  of  England  hangs  upon  it,'* 
murmured  Sir  John  Elphinspoon,  as 
he  sank  wearily  into  an  armchair. 
For  a  moment  as  he  said  "England," 
the  baronet's  eye  glistened  and  his  ears  lifted 
as  if  in  defiance,  but  as  soon  as  he  stopped 
saying  it  his  eye  lost  its  brilliance  and 
his  ears  dropped  wearily  at  the  sides  of  his 
head. 

Lady  Elphinspoon  looked  at  her  husband 
anxiously.  She  could  not  conceal  from  herself 
that  his  face,  as  he  sank  into  his  chair,  seemed 
somehow  ten  years  older  than  it  had  been  ttn 
years  ago. 

"You  are  home  early,  John?"  she  queried. 

67 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


"The  House  rose  early,  my  dear,"  said  the 
baronet. 

"For  the  All  England  Ping  Pong  match?" 

*'No,  for  the  Dog  Show.  The  Prime 
Minister  felt  that  the  cabinet  ought  to  attend. 
He  said  that  their  presence  there  would  help  to 
bind  the  colonies  to  us.  I  understand  also  that 
he  has  a  pup  in  the  show  himself.  He  took  the 
Cabinet  with  him." 

"And  why  not  you?"  asked  Lady  Elphin- 
spoon. 

"You  forget,  my  dear,"  said  the  baronet, 
"as  Foreign  Secretary  my  presence  at  a  dog 
show  might  be  offensive  to  the  Shah  of  Persia. 
Had  it  been  a  Cat  Show " 

The  baronet  paused  and  shook  his  head  in 
deep  gloom. 

"John,"  said  his  wife,  "I  feel  that  there  is 
something  more.  Did  anything  happen  at  the 
House?" 

Sir  John  nodded. 

"A  bad  business,"  he  said.  "The  Wazu- 
chistan  Boundary  Bill  was  read  this  afternoon 
for  the  third  time." 

68  . 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


No  woman  in  England,  so  It  was  generally 
said,  had  a  keener  political  insight  than  Lady 
Elphinspoon. 

*'The  third  time,"  she  repeated  thoughtfully, 
"and  how  many  more  will  it  have  to  go?" 

Sir  John  turned  his  head  aside  and  groaned. 

"You  are  faint,"  exclaimed  Lady  Elphin- 
spoon, "let  me  ring  for  tea." 

The  baronet  shook  his  head. 

"An  egg  John — let  me  beat  you  up  an  egg." 

"Yes,  yes,"  murmured  Sir  John  still 
abstracted,  "beat  it,  yes,  do  beat  it." 

Lady  Elphinspoon,  in  spite  of  her  elevated 
position  as  the  wife  of  the  Foreign  Secretary 
of  Great  Britain,  held  it  not  beneath  her 
to  perform  for  her  husband  the  plainest  house- 
hold service.  She  rang  for  an  tgg.  The 
butler  broke  it  for  her  into  a  tall  goblet  filled 
with  old  sherry  and  the  noble  lady,  with  her 
own  hands,  beat  the  stuff  out  of  it.  For  the 
veteran  politician,  whose  official  duties  rarely 
allowed  him  to  eat,  an  egg  was  a  sovereign 
remedy.  Taken  either  in  a  goblet  of  sherry, 
or  in   a   mug  of  rum,   or  in  half   a   pint  of 

69 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


whiskey,  it  never  failed  to  revive  his  energies. 

The  effect  of  the  egg  was  at  once  visible  in 
the  brightening  of  his  eye  and  the  lengthening 
of  his  ears. 

"And  now  explain  to  me,"  said  his  wife, 
"what  has  happened.  What  is  this  Boundary 
Bill?" 

"We  never  meant  it  to  pass,"  said  Sir  John. 
"It  was  introduced  only  as  a  sop  to  public 
opinion.  It  delimits  our  frontier  in  such  a  way 
as  to  extend  our  suzerainty  over  the  entire 
desert  of  El  Skrub.  The  Wazoos  have 
claimed  that  this  is  their  desert.  The  hill 
tribes  are  restless.  If  we  attempt  to  advance 
the  Wazoos  will  rise.  If  we  retire  it  deals  a 
blow  at  our  prestige." 

Lady  Elphinspoon  shuddered.  Her  long 
political  training  had  taught  her  that  nothing 
was  so  fatal  to  England  as  to  be  hit  in  the 
prestige. 

"And  on  the  other  hand,"  continued  Sir 
John,  "if  we  move  sideways,  the  Ohulis,  the 
mortal  enemies  of  the  Wazoos,  will  strike  us 
in  our  rear." 


70 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


"In  our  rear!"  exclaimed  Lady  Elphinspoon 
In  a  tone  of  pain,  "Oh,  John,  we  must  go  for- 
ward.    Take  another  tgg."" 

"We  cannot,"  groaned  the  Foreign  Secre- 
tary. "There  are  reasons  which  I  cannot  ex- 
plain even  to  you,  Caroline,  reasons  of  State, 
which  absolutely  prevent  us  from  advancing 
into  Wazuchistan.  Our  hands  are  tied. 
Meantime  if  the  Wazoos  rise,  it  is  all  over 
with  us.     It  will  split  the  Cabinet." 

"Split  the  Cabinet!"  repeated  Lady  Elphin- 
spoon in  alarm.  She  well  knew  that  next  to  a 
blow  in  the  prestige  the  splitting  of  the  Cabinet 
was  about  the  worst  thing  that  could  happen 
to  Great  Britain.  "Oh,  John,  they  must  be 
held  together  at  all  costs.  Can  nothing  be 
done?" 

"Everything  Is  being  done  that  can  be.  The 
Prime  Minister  has  them  at  the  Dog  Show 
at  this  moment.  Tonight  the  Chancellor  is 
taking  them  to  moving  pictures.  And  to- 
morrow— it  is  a  state  secret,  my  dear,  but  it 
will  be  very  generally  known  in  the  morning — 
we  have  seats  for  them  all  at  the  circus.  If 
71 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


we  can  hold  them  together  all  is  well,  but  if 
they  split  we  are  undone.  Meantime  our  diffi- 
culties increase.  At  the  very  passage  of  the 
Bill  itself  a  question  was  asked  by  one  of  the 
new  labour  members,  a  miner  my  dear,  a  quite 
uneducated  man " 

"Yes?"  queried  Lady  Elphinspoon. 

"He  asked  the  Colonial  Secretary" — Sir 
John  shuddered — "to  tell  him  where  Wazu- 
chistan  is.  Worse  than  that,  my  dear,"  added 
Sir  John,  "he  defied  him  to  tell  him  where  it 
is." 

"What  did  you  do?  Surely  he  has  no  right 
to  information  of  that  sort?" 

"It  was  a  close  shave.  Luckily  the  whips 
saved  us.  They  got  the  Secretary  out  of  the 
House  and  rushed  him  to  the  British  Museum 
When  he  got  back  he  said  that  he  would  answer 
the  question  a  month  from  Friday.  We  got 
a  great  burst  of  cheers,  but  it  was  a  close  thing. 
But  stop,  I  must  speak  at  once  with  Powers. 
My  despatch  box,  yes,  here  it  is.  Now  where 
is  young  Powers?    There  is  work  for  him  to  do 


72 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


"Mr.  Powers  is  in  the  conservatory  with 
Angela,"  said  Lady  Elphinspoon. 

"With  Angela !"  exclaimed  Sir  John,  while 
a  slight  shade  of  displeasure  appeared  upon  his 
brow.  "With  Angela  again!  Do  you  think 
it  quite  proper,  my  dear,  that  Powers  should 
be  so  constantly  with  Angela?" 

"John,"  said  his  wife,  "you  forget,  I  think, 
who  Mr.  Powers  is.  I  am  sure  that  Angela 
knows  too  well  what  is  due  to  her  rank,  and  to 
herself,  to  consider  Mr.  Powers  anything  more 
than  an  instructive  companion.  And  I  notice 
that  since  Mr.  Powers  has  been  your  secretary, 
Angela's  mind  is  much  keener.  Already  the 
girl  has  a  wonderful  grasp  on  foreign  policy. 
Only  yesterday  I  heard  her  asking  the  Prime 
Minister  at  luncheon  whether  we  intend  to  ex- 
tend our  Senegambian  protectorate  over  the 
Fusees.     He  was  delighted." 

"Oh,  very  well,  very  well,"  said  Sir  John. 
Then  he  rang  a  bell  for  a  man  servant. 

"Ask  Mr.   Powers,"  he  said,   "to  be  good 
enough  to  attend  me  in  the  library." 
73 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


CHAPTER  II 

Angela  Elphlnspoon  stood  with  Perriton 
Powers  among  the  begonias  of  the  conserva- 
tory. The  same  news  which  had  so  agitated 
Sir  John  lay  heavy  on  both  their  hearts. 

*'Will  the  Wazoos  rise?"  asked  Angela 
clasping  her  hands  before  her,  while  her  great 
eyes  sought  the  young  man's  face  and  found  it. 
"Oh,  Mr.  Powers!  Tell  me,  will  they  rise? 
It  seems  too  dreadful  to  contemplate.  Do 
you  think  the  Wazoos  will  rise?" 

"It  is  only  too  likely,"  said  Powers.  They 
stood  looking  into  one  another's  eyes,  their 
thoughts  all  on  the  Wazoo. 

Angela  Elphinspoon,  as  she  stood  there 
against  the  background  of  the  begonias,  made 
a  picture  that  a  painter,  or  even  a  plumber^ 
would  have  loved.  Tall  and  typically  English 
in  her  fair  beauty,  her  features,  in  repose,  had 
something  of  the  hauteur  and  distinction  of  her 
mother,  and  when  in  motion  they  recalled  her 
father. 

74 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


Perrlton  Powers  was  even  taller  than  Angela. 
The  splendid  frame  and  stern  features  of  Sir 
John's  secretary  made  him  a  striking  figure. 
Yet  he  was,  quite  frankly,  sprung  from  the 
people,  and  made  no  secret  of  It.  His  father 
had  been  simply  a  well-to-do  London  surgeon, 
who  had  been  knighted  for  some  mere  dis- 
coveries In  science.  His  grandfather,  so  It 
was  whispered,  had  been  nothing  more  than  a 
successful  banker  who  had  amassed  a  fortune 
simply  by  successful  banking.  Yet  at  Oxford 
young  Powers  had  carried  all  before  him.  He 
had  occupied  a  seat,  a  front  seat,  in  one  of  the 
boats,  had  got  his  blue  and  his  pink,  and  had 
taken  a  double  final  in  Sanscrit  and  Arithmetic. 

He  had  already  travelled  widely  in  the  east, 
spoke  Urdu  and  Hoodoo  with  facility,  while  as 
secretary  to  Sir  John  Elphlnspoon,  with  a  seat 
in  the  House  in  prospect,  he  had  his  foot  upon 
the  ladder  of  success. 

"Yes,"  repeated  Powers,  thoughtfully,  "they 
may  rise.  Our  confidential  despatches  tell  us 
that  for  some  time  they  have  been  secretly 
75 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


passing  round  packets  of  yeast.  The  whole 
tribe  is  in  a  ferment.'' 

"But  our  sphere  of  influence  is  at  stake?"  ex- 
claimed Angela. 

"It  is,"  said  Powers.  "As  a  matter  of  fact, 
for  over  a  year  we  have  been  living  on  a  mere 
modus  Vivendi.'* 

"Oh,  Mr.  Powers!"  cried  Angela,  "what  a 
way  to  live." 

"We  have  tried  everything,"  said  the  secre- 
tary. "We  offered  the  Wazoo  a  condominium 
over  the  desert  of  El  Skrub.     They  refused  it." 

"But  it's  our  desert!"  said  Angela  proudly. 

"It  is.  But  what  can  we  do.  The  best  we 
can  hope  is  that  El  Boob  will  acquiesce  In  the 
status  quo!* 

At  that  moment  a  manservant  appeared  in 
the  doorway  of  the  conservatory. 

"Mr.  Powers,  sir,"  he  said,  "Sir  John  de- 
sires your  attendance,  sir,  in  the  library,  sir." 

Powers  turned  to  Angela,  a  new  seriousness 
upon  his  face. 

"Miss  Elphinspoon,"   he   said,   "I   think   I 

76 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


know  what  Is  coming.  Will  you  wait  for  me 
here?     I  shall  be  back  In  half  an  hour." 

*'I  will  wait,"  said  the  girl.  She  sat  down 
and  waited  among  the  begonias,  her  mind  still 
on  the  Wazoo,  her  whole  Intense  nature  strung 
to  the  highest  pitch.  "Can  the  modus  vivendi 
hold?"  she  murmured. 

In  half  an  hour  Powers  returned.  He  was 
wearing  now  his  hat  and  light  overcoat,  and 
carried  on  a  strap  round  his  neck  a  tin  box  with 
a  white  painted  label,  '^British  Foreign  Office. 
Confidential  Despatches.  This  Side  Up  With 
Care:' 

"Miss  Elphinspoon,"  he  said,  and  there  was 
a  new  note  In  his  voice,  " — Angela,  I  leave 
England  tonight " 

"Tonight!"  gasped  Angela. 

"On  a  confidential  mission." 

"To  Wazuchistan!"  exclaimed  the  girl. 

Powers  paused  a  moment — "To  Wazu- 
chistan," he  said,  "yes.  But  it  must  not  be 
known.  I  shall  return  in  a  month — or  never. 
If  I  fail,"  he  spoke  with  an  assumed  lightness, 
"It  Is  only  one  more  grave  among  the  hills.  If 
77 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


I  succeed,  the  Cabinet  is  saved,  and  with  it  the 
destiny  of  England." 

*'0h,  Mr.  Powers/'  cried  Angela,  rising  and 
advancing  towards  him,  ''how  splendid!  How 
noble !     No  reward  will  be  too  great  for  you.'* 

"My  reward,"  said  Powers,  and  as  he  spoke 
he  reached  out  and  clasped  both  of  the  girl's 
hands  in  his  own,  "Yes,  my  reward.  May  I 
come  and  claim  it  here?" 

For  a  moment  he  looked  straight  Into  her 
eyes.  In  the  next  he  was  gone,  and  Angela 
was  alone. 

"His  reward!"  she  murmured.  "What 
could  he  have  meant?  His  reward  that  he  is  to 
claim.     What  can  it  be?" 

But  she  could  not  divine  It.  She  admitted 
to  herself  that  she  had  not  the  faintest  idea. 


CHAPTER  III 

In  the  days  that  followed  ail  England  was 
thrilled  to  its  base  as  the  news  spread  that  the 
Wazoo  might  rise  at  any  moment. 

78 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


"Will  the  Wazoos  rise?"  was  the  question 
upon  every  lip. 

In  London  men  went  to  their  offices  with  a 
sense  of  gloom.  At  lunch  they  could  hardly 
eat.  A  feeling  of  impending  disaster  pervaded 
all  ranks. 

Sir  John  as  he  passed  to  and  fro  to  the 
House  was  freely  accosted  in  the  streets. 

"Will  the  Wazoos  rise,  sir?"  asked  an 
honest  labourer.  "Lord  help  us  all,  sir,  if  they 
do." 

Sir  John,  deeply  touched,  dropped  a  shilling 
in  the  honest  fellow's  hat,  by  accident. 

At  No.  lo  Downing  Street,  women  of  the 
working  class,  with  children  in  their  arms,  stood 
waiting  for  news. 

On  the  Exchange  all  was  excitement. 
Consols  fell  two  points  in  twenty-four  hours. 
Even  raising  the  Bank  rate  and  shutting  the 
door,  brought  only  a  temporary  relief. 

Lord  Glump,  the  greatest  financial  expert  in 
London,  was  reported  as  saying  that  if  the 
Wazoos  rose  England  would  be  bankrupt  in 
forty-eight  hours. 

79 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


Meanwhile  to  the  consternation  of  the  whole 
nation  the  government  did  nothing.  The 
Cabinet  seemed  to  be  paralyzed. 

On  the  other  hand  the  press  became  all  the 
more  clamorous.  The  London  Times  urged 
that  an  expedition  should  be  sent  at  once. 
Twenty-five  thousand  household  troops,  it 
argued,  should  be  sent  up  the  Euphrates  or  up 
the  Ganges  or  up  something  without  delay. 
If  they  were  taken  in  flat  boats,  carried  over 
the  mountains  on  mules,  and  lifted  across  the 
rivers  In  slings,  they  could  then  be  carried  over 
the  desert  on  jackasses.  They  could  reach 
Wazuchistan  In  two  years.  Other  papers 
counselled  moderation.  The  Manchester 
Guardian  recalled  the  fact  that  the  Wazoos 
were  a  Christian  people.  Their  leader,  El 
Boob,  so  it  was  said,  had  accepted  Christianity 
with  childlike  simplicity  and  had  asked  if  there 
was  any  more  of  it.  The  Spectator  claimed 
that  the  Wazoos,  or  more  properly  the  Wazi, 
were  probably  the  descendants  of  an  Iranic  or 
perhaps  Urgumic  stock.  It  suggested  the 
award  of  a  Rhodes  Scholarship.  It  looked 
80 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


forward  to  the  days  when  there  would  be 
Wazoos  at  Oxford.  Even  the  presence  of  a 
single  Wazoo,  or  more  accurately,  a  single 
Wooz,  would  help. 

With  each  day  the  news  became  more 
ominous.  It  was  reported  in  the  press  that  a 
Wazoo,  inflamed  apparently  with  ghee,  or  per- 
haps with  hhong,  had  rushed  up  to  the  hills  and 
refused  to  come  down.  It  was  said  that  the 
Shriek-ul-Foozlum,  the  religious  head  of  the 
tribe,  had  torn  off  his  suspenders  and  sent  them 
to  Mecca. 

That  same  day  the  Illustrated  London  News 
published  a  drawing  "Wazoo  Warriors  cross- 
ing a  River  and  Shouting,  Hoi"  and  the 
general  consternation  reached  its  height. 

Meantime,  for  Sir  John  and  his  colleagues, 
the  question  of  the  hour  became  "Could  the 
Cabinet  be  held  together?"  Every  effort  was 
made.  The  news  that  the  Cabinet  had  all  been 
seen  together  at  the  circus,  for  a  moment  re- 
assured the  nation.  But  the  rumour  spread 
that  the  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  had  said 
that  the  clowns  were  a  bum  lot.  The  radical 
8i 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


press  claimed  that  if  he  thought  so  he  ought  to 
resign. 

On  the  fatal  Friday  the  question  already- 
referred  to  was  scheduled  for  its  answer.  The 
friends  of  the  government  counted  on  the 
answer  to  restore  confidence.  To  the  con- 
sternation of  all  the  expected  answer  was  not 
forthcoming.  The  Colonial  Secretary  rose  in 
his  place,  visibly  nervous.  Ministers,  he  said, 
had  been  asked  where  Wazuchistan  was.  They 
were  not  prepared,  at  the  present  delicate  stage 
of  negotiations,  to  say.  More  hung  upon  the 
answer  than  ministers  were  entitled  to  divulge. 
They  could  only  appeal  to  the  patriotism  of  the 
nation.  He  could  only  say  this  that  wherever 
it  was,  and  he  used  the  word  wherever  with  all 
the  emphasis  of  which  he  was  capable,  the 
government  would  accept  the  full  responsibihty 
for  its  being  where  it  was. 

The  House  adjourned  in  something  like  con- 
fusion. 

Among  those  seated  behind  the  grating  of 
the  Ladies'  Gallery  was  Lady  Elphinspoon. 
Her  quick  instinct  told  her  the  truth.     Driving 

82 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


home,  she  found  her  husband  seated,  crushed. 
In  his  Hbrary. 

^'John,"  she  said,  falling  on  her  knees  and 
taking  her  husband's  hands  in  hers,  *'Is  this 
true?     Is  this  the  dreadful  truth?" 

*'I  see  you  have  divined  it,  Caroline,"  said 
the  statesman,  sadly.  "It  Is  the  truth.  We 
don't  know  where  Wazuchistan  is." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence. 

"But  John,  how  could  it  have  happened?" 

"We  thought  the  Colonial  Office  knew.  We 
were  confident  that  they  knew.  The  Colonial 
Secretary  had  stated  that  he  had  been  there. 
Later  on  It  turned  out  that  he  meant  Saskatche- 
wan. Of  course  they  thought  we  knew.  And 
we  both  thought  that  the  Exchequer  must  know. 
We  understood  that  they  had  collected  a  hut 
tax  for  ten  years." 

"And  hadn't  they?'* 

"Not  a  penny.     The  Wazoos  live  in  tents." 

"But,  surely,"  pleaded  Lady  Elphinspoon, 
"you  could  find  out.     Had  you  no  maps?" 

Sir  John  shook  his  head. 

"We   thought   of   that   at   once,   my   dear. 

83 


New  Nomense  Novels 


WeVe  looked  all  through  the  British  Museum. 
Once  we  thought  we  had  succeeded.  But  It 
turned  out  to  be  Wisconsin." 

"But  the  map  in  the  Times?  Everybody 
saw  it." 

Again  the  baronet  shook  his  head.  "Lord 
Southcliff  had  it  made  in  the  office,"  he  said. 
"It  appears  that  he  always  does.  Otherwise 
the  physical  features  might  not  suit  him." 

"But  could  you  not  send  someone  to  see?" 

"We  did.  We  sent  Perriton  Powers  to  find 
out  where  it  was.  We  had  a  month  to  the 
good.  It  was  barely  time,  just  time.  Powers 
has  failed  and  we  are  lost.  Tomorrow  all 
England  will  guess  the  truth  and  the  Govern- 
ment falls." 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  crowd  outside  of  No.  lo  Downing 
Street  that  evening  was  so  dense  that  all  traffic 
was  at  a  standstill.  But  within  the  historic 
room  where  the  cabinet  were  seated  about  the 
long    table    all    was    calm.     Few    could    have 

84 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


guessed  from  the  quiet  demeanour  of  the 
group  of  statesmen  that  the  fate  of  an  Empire 
hung  by  a  thread. 

Seated  at  the  head  of  the  table  the  Prime 
Minister  was  quietly  looking  over  a  book  of 
butterflies,  while  waiting  for  the  conference  to 
begin.  Beside  him  the  Secretary  for  Ireland 
was  fixing  trout  flies,  while  the  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer  kept  his  serene  face  bent  over 
upon  his  needlework.  At  the  Prime  Minister's 
right.  Sir  John  Elphinspoon,  no  longer  agitated, 
but  sustained  and  dignified  by  the  responsibility 
of  his  oflice,  was  playing  spillikins. 

The  little  clock  on  the  mantel  chimed  eight. 

The  Premier  closed  his  book  of  butterflies. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  'T  fear  our 
meeting  will  not  be  a  protracted  one.  It  seems 
we  are  hopelessly  at  variance.  You,  Sir 
Charles,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  First 
Sea  Lord  who  was  in  attendance,  "are  still  in 
favour  of  a  naval  expedition." 

*'Send  it  up  at  once,"  said  Sir  Charles. 

"Up  where?"  asked  the  Premier. 

85 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


"Up  anything,"  answered  the  Old  Sea  Dog, 
''it  will  get  there." 

Voices  of  dissent  were  raised  in  undertones 
around  the  table. 

"I  strongly  deprecate  any  expedition,"  said 
the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  "I  favour 
a  convention  with  the  Shriek.  Let  the  Shriek 
sign  a  convention  recognizing  the  existence  of  a 
supreme  being  and  receiving  from  us  a  million 
sterling  in  acknowledgment." 

"i\nd  where  will  you  find  the  Shriek?"  said 
the  Prime  Minister.  "Come,  come,  gentle- 
men, I  fear  that  we  can  play  this  comedy  no 
longer.  The  truth  is,"  he  added  with 
characteristic  nonchalance,  "we  don't  know 
where  the  bally  place  is.  We  can't  meet  the 
House  tomorrow.  We  are  hopelessly  split. 
Our  existence  as  a  government  is  at  an  end." 

But,  at  that  very  moment,  a  great  noise  of 
shouting  and  clamour  rose  from  the  street 
without.  The  Prime  Minister  lifted  his  hand 
for  silence.  "Listen,"  he  said.  One  of  the 
ministers  went  to  a  window  and  opened  it,  and 
the  cries  outside  became  audible.     "A  King*s 

86 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


Messenger!  Make  way  for  the  King^s 
Messenger!'^ 

The  Premier  turned  quietly  to  Sir  John. 

'Terrlton  Powers,"  he  said. 

In  another  moment  Perrlton  Powers  stood 
before  the  ministers. 

Bronzed  by  the  tropic  sun,  his  face  was 
recognizable  only  by  the  assured  glance  of  his 
eye.  An  Afghan  hernous  was  thrown  back 
from  his  head  and  shoulders,  while  his  com- 
manding figure  was  draped  in  a  long  chibuok. 
A  pair  of  pistols  and  a  curved  yasmak  were  in 
his  belt. 

"So  you  got  to  Wazuchistan  all  right,"  said 
the  Premier  quietly. 

"I  went  in  by  way  of  the  Barooda,"  said 
Powers.  "For  many  days  I  was  unable  to 
cross  it.  The  waters  of  the  river  were  wild 
and  swollen  with  rains.  To  cross  it  seemed 
certain  death " 

"But  at  last  you  got  over,"  said  the  Premier, 
"and  then " 

"I  struck  out  over  the  Fahuri  desert.     For 

87 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


days  and  days,  blinded  by  the  sun,  and  almost 
burled  in  sand,  I  despaired." 

"But  you  got  through  it  all  right.  And  after 
that?" 

"My  first  care  was  to  disguise  myself. 
Staining  myself  from  head  to  foot  with  betel 
nut " 

"To  look  like  a  beetle,"  said  the  Premier, 
"exactly,  and  so  you  got  to  Wazuchistan. 
Where  is  it  and  what  is  it?" 

"My  lord,"  said  Powers,  drawing  himself 
up  and  speaking  with  emphasis.  "I  got  to 
where  it  was  thought  to  be.  There  is  no  such 
place!" 

The  whole  cabinet  gave  a  start  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"No  such  place!"  they  repeated. 

"What  about  El  Boob?"  asked  the  Chan- 
cellor. 

"There  is  no  such  person." 

"And  the  Shriek-el-Foozlum?" 

Powers  shook  his  head. 

"But  do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  the  Premier 
in  astonishment,  "that  there  are  no  Wazoos. 
88 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


There  you  must  be  wrong.  True  we  don't  just 
know  where  they  are.  But  our  despatches 
have  shown  too  many  signs  of  active  trouble 
traced  directly  to  the  Wazoos,  to  disbelieve  in 
them.  There  are  Wazoos  somewhere,  there 
— there  must  be." 

"The  Wazoos,"  said  Powers,  "are  there. 
But  they  are  Irish.  So  are  the  Ohulis.  They 
are  both  Irish." 

"But  how  the  devil  did  they  get  out  there," 
questioned  the  Premier.  "And  why  did  they 
make  the  trouble?" 

"The  Irish,  my  lord,"  interrupted  the  Chief 
Secretary  for  Ireland,  "are  everywhere,  and  it 
is  their  business  to  make  trouble." 

"Some  years  ago,"  continued  Powers,  "a  few 
Irish  families  settled  out  there.  The  Ohulis 
should  be  properly  called  the  O'Hooleys.  The 
word  Wazoo  is  simply  the  Urdu  for  McGinnis. 
El  Boob  is  the  Urdu  for  the  Arabic  El  Papa, 
the  Pope.  It  was  my  knowledge  of  Urdu, 
itself  an  agglutinative  language " 

"Precisely,"  said  the  Premier.  Then  he 
turned  to  his  Cabinet.     "Well,  gentlemen,  our 

89 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


task  Is  now  simplified.  If  they  are  Irish,  I 
think  we  know  exactly  what  to  do.  I  suppose," 
he  continued,  turning  to  Powers,  "that  they 
want  some  kind  of  Home  Rule." 

*'They  do,"  said  Powers. 

"Separating,  of  course,  the  Ohuli  counties 
from  the  Wazoo?" 

"Yes,"  said  Powers. 

"Precisely;  the  thing  Is  simplicity  itself.  And 
what  contribution  will  they  make  to  the  Im- 
perial Exchequer?" 

"None." 

"And  will  they  pay  their  own  expenses?" 

"They  refuse  to." 

"Exactly.  All  this  Is  plain  sailing.  Of 
course  they  must  have  a  constabulary.  Lord 
Edward,"  continued  the  Premier,  turning  now 
to  the  Secretary  of  War,  "how  long  will  it  take 
to  send  In  a  couple  of  hundred  constabulary. 
I  think  they'll  expect  it,  you  know.  It's  their 
right." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Lord  Edward,  calculating 
quickly  with  military  precision,  "sending  them 
over  the  Barooda  in  buckets  and  then  over  the 
90 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


mountains  In  baskets — I  think  in  about  two 
weeks." 

"Good,"  said  the  Premier.  "Gentlemen,  we 
shall  meet  the  House  tomorrow.  Sir  John  will 
you  meantime  draft  us  an  annexation  bill.  And 
you,  young  man,  what  you  have  done  is  really 
not  half  bad.  His  Majesty  will  see  you  to- 
morrow.    I  am  glad  that  you  are  safe." 

"On  my  way  home,"  said  Powers  with  quiet 
modesty,  "I  was  attacked  by  a  lion " 

"But  you  beat  it  off,"  said  the  Premier. 
"Exactly.     Good  night." 

CHAPTER  V 

It  was  on  the  following  afternoon  that  Sir 
John  Elphinspoon  presented  the  Wazoo  An- 
nexation Bill  to  a  crowded  and  breathless 
House. 

Those  who  know  the  House  of  Commons 
know  that  it  has  its  moods.  At  times  it  is 
grave,  earnest,  thoughtful.  At  other  times  it 
is  swept  with  emotion  which  comes  at  it  in 
waves.  Or  at  times,  again,  it  just  seems  to 
sit  there  as  if  it  were  stuffed. 
91 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


But  all  agreed  that  they  had  never  seen  the 
House  so  hushed  as  when  Sir  John  Elphlnspoon 
presented  his  bill  for  the  Annexation  of  Wazu- 
chlstan.  And  when  at  the  close  of  a  splendid 
peroration  he  turned  to  pay  a  graceful  compli- 
ment to  the  man  who  had  saved  the  nation,  and 
thundered  forth  to  the  delighted  ears  of  his 
listeners — 

Arma  virumque  cano  PFazoo  qui  primus 
ah  oris, 

and  then  with  the  words  "England,  England'^ 
still  on  his  lips,  fell  over  backwards  and  was 
carried  out  on  a  stretcher,  the  House  broke 
into  wild  and  unrestrained  applause. 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  next  day  Sir  Perriton  Powers — for  the 
King  had  knighted  him  after  breakfast — stood 
again  in  the  Conservatory  of  the  house  in 
Carlton  terrace. 

"I  have  come  for  my  reward,"  he  said,  *'do 
I  get  it?'* 

92 


The  Split  in  the  Cabinet 


"You  do,"  said  Angela. 

Sir  Perriton  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

*'0n  my  way  home,"  he  said,  "I  was  at- 
tacked by  a  lion.     I  tried  to  beat  it — — " 

"Hush,  dearest,"  she  whispered,  "let  me  take 
you  to  father." 


93 


IV 

WHO  DO   YOU  THINK 
DID  IT? 

OR,  The  Mixed-up  Murder  Mystery 

{Done  ajter  the  very  latest  fashion  in  this 

sort  of  thing) 


IF,— Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It?  or,  the 
Mixed-Up  Murder  Mystery 

NOTE. — Any  reader  who  guesses  correctly 
who  did  it  is  entitled  (in  all  fairness)  to  a 
beautiful  gold  watch  and  chain. 

CHAPTER  I 

HE  DINED  WITH  ME  LAST  NIGHT  ^ 

THE  afternoon  edition  of  the  Metro- 
politan Planet  was  going  to  press. 
Five  thousand  copies  a  minute 
were  reeling  off  its  giant  cylin- 
ders. A  square  acre  of  paper  was  passing 
through  its  presses  every  hour.  In  the  huge 
Planet  building  which  dominated  Broadway, 
employees,  compositors,  reporters,  advertisers, 
surged  to  and  fro.  Placed  in  a  single  line  (only, 
of  course,  they  wouldn't  be  likely  to  consent  to 
it)  they  would  have  reached  across  Manhattan 
97 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


Island.  Placed  In  two  lines,  they  would 
probably  have  reached  twice  as  far.  Ar- 
ranged in  a  procession  they  would  have  taken 
an  hour  in  passing  a  saloon:  easily  that. 

In  the  whole  vast  building  all  was  uproar. 
Telephones,  megaphones  and  gramophones 
were  ringing  throughout  the  building.  Ele- 
vators flew  up  and  down  stopping  nowhere. 

Only  in  one  place  was  quiet — namely  in  the 
room  where  sat  the  big  man  on  whose  capacious 
intellect  the  whole  organization  depended. 

Masterman  Throgton,  the  general  manager 
of  the  Planet,  was  a  man  in  middle  life.  There 
was  something  in  his  massive  frame  which  sug- 
gested massiveness,  and  a  certain  quality  in  the 
poise  of  his  great  head  which  indicated  a 
balanced  intellect.  His  face  was  impenetrable 
and  his  expression  imponderable. 

The  big  chief  was  sitting  in  his  swivel  chair 
with  ink  all  round  him.  Through  this  man's 
great  brain  passed  all  the  threads  and  filaments 
that  held  the  news  of  a  continent.  Snap  one, 
and  the  whole  continent  would  stop. 

At  the  moment  when  our  story  opens  (there 

98 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

was  no  sense  in  opening  It  sooner) ,  a  written 
message  has  just  been  handed  In. 

The  Chief  read  it.  He  seemed  to  grasp  its 
contents  In  a  flash.  • 

"Good  God!"  he  exclaimed.  It  was  the 
strongest  expression  that  this  solid  self-con- 
tained, semi-detached  man  ever  allowed  him- 
self. Anything  stronger  would  have  seemed 
too  near  to  profanity. 

"Good  God!"  he  repeated,  "Kivas  Kelly 
murdered!  In  his  own  home!  Why,  he  dined 
with  me  last  night!     I  drove  him  home!" 

For  a  brief  moment  the  big  man  remained 
plunged  in  thought.  But  with  Throgton  the 
moment  of  musing  was  short.  His  instinct 
was  to  act. 

"You  may  go,"  he  said  to  the  messenger. 
Then  he  seized  the  telephone  that  stood  beside 
him  (this  man  could  telephone  almost  without 
stopping  thinking) ,  and  spoke  into  It  in  quiet 
measured  tones,  without  wasting  a  word. 

"Hullo,  operator,  put  me  through  to  two, 
two,  two,  two,  two.  Is  that  two,  two,  two, 
two,  two?  Hullo  two,  two,  two,  two,  two,  I 
99 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


want  Transome  Kent.  Kent  speaking?  Kent, 
this  is  Throgton  speaking.  Kent,  a  murder  has 
been  committed  at  the  Kelly  residence.  River- 
side Drive.  I  want  you  to  go  and  cover  it. 
Get  it  all.  Don't  spare  expense.  The  Planet 
is  behind  you.  Have  you  got  car-fare? 
Right." 

In  another  moment  the  big  chief  had  turned 
round  in  his  swivel  chair  (at  least  forty  de- 
grees), and  was  reading  telegraphic  des- 
patches from  Jerusalem.  That  was  the  way 
he  did  things. 


CHAPTER  II 

I  MUST  SAVE  HER  LIFE 

Within  a  few  minutes  Transome  Kent  had 
leapt  into  a  car  (a  surface  car)  and  was  speed- 
ing north  towards  Riverside  Drive  with  the 
full  power  of  the  car.  As  he  passed  uptown  a 
newsboy  was  already  calling,  "Club  Man 
Murdered!  Another  Club  Man  Murdered!" 
Carelessly  throwing  a  cent  to  the  boy,  Kent  pur- 

100 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 


chased  a  paper  and  read  the  brief  notice  of  the 
tragedy. 

Klvas  Kelly,  a  well-known  club-man  and  bon 
vivantj  had  been  found  dead  in  his  residence 
on  Riverside  Drive,  with  every  indication — or, 
at  least,  with  a  whole  lot  of  indications — of 
murder.  The  unhappy  club-man  had  been 
found,  fully  dressed  in  his  evening  clothes,  lying 
on  his  back  on  the  floor  of  the  billiard  room 
with  his  feet  stuck  up  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 
A  narrow  black  scarf,  presumably  his  evening 
tie,  was  twisted  tightly  about  his  neck  by  means 
of  a  billiard  cue  inserted  in  it.  There  was  a 
quiet  smile  upon  his  face.  He  had  apparently 
died  from  strangulation.  A  couple  of  bullet 
holes  passed  through  his  body  one  on  each  side, 
but  they  went  out  again.  His  suspenders  were 
burst  at  the  back.  His  hands  were  folded 
across  his  chest.  One  of  them  still  held  a 
white  billiard  ball.  There  was  no  sign  of  a 
struggle  or  of  any  disturbance  in  the  room.  A 
square  piece  of  cloth  was  missing  from  the 
victim's  dinner  jacket. 

In  its  editorial  columns  the  same  paper  dls- 

lOI 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


cussed  the  more  genera]  aspects  of  the  murder. 
This,  it  said,  v\'as  the  third  club  man  murdered 
in  the  last  fortnight.  While  not  taking  an 
alarmist  view,  the  paper  felt  that  the  killing  of 
club  men  had  got  to  stop.  There  was  a  limit,  a 
reasonable  limit,  to  everything.  Why  should 
a  club  man  be  killed?  It  might  be  asked,  why 
should  a  club  man  live?  But  this  was  hardly 
to  the  point.  They  do  live.  After  all,  to  be 
fair,  what  does  a  club  man  ask  of  society?  Not 
much.  Merely  wine,  women  and  singing. 
Why  not  let  him  have  them?  Is  it  fair  to  kill 
him?  Does  the  gain  to  literature  outweigh  the 
social  wrong?  The  writer  estimated  that  at 
the  rate  of  killing  now  going  on,  the  club  men 
would  be  all  destroyed  in  another  generation. 
Something  should  be  done  to  conserve  them. 

Transome  Kent  was  not  a  detective.  He 
was  a  reporter.  After  sweeping  everything  at 
Harvard  in  front  of  him,  and  then  behind  him, 
he  had  joined  the  staff  of  the  Planet  two 
months  before.  His  rise  had  been  phenomenal. 
In  his  first  week  of  work  he  had  unravelled  a 
mystery,  in  his  second  he  had  unearthed  a  pack- 

102 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

ing  scandal  which  had  poisoned  the  food  of  the 
entire  nation  for  ten  years,  and  In  his  third  he 
had  pitilessly  exposed  some  of  the  best  and 
most  respectable  people  In  the  metropolis. 
Kent's  work  on  the  Planet  consisted  now  almost 
exclusively  of  unravelling  and  unearthing,  and 
it  was  natural  that  the  manager  should  turn  to 
him. 

The  mansion  was  a  handsome  sandstone 
residence,  standing  in  Its  own  grounds.  On 
Kent's  arrival  he  found  that  the  police  had 
already  drawn  a  cordon  around  it  with  cords. 
Groups  of  morbid  curiosity  seekers  hung  about 
It  In  twos  and  threes,  some  of  them  in  fours  and 
fives.  Policemen  were  leaning  against  the 
fence  in  all  directions.  They  wore  that  baffled 
look  so  common  to  the  detective  force  of  the 
metropolis.  "It  seems  to  me,"  remarked  one 
of  them  to  the  man  beside  him,  "that  there  is 
an  Inexorable  chain  of  logic  about  this  that  I 
am  unable  to  follow."  "So  do  I,"  said  the 
other. 

The  Chief  Inspector  of  the  Detective  De- 
partment, a  large  heavy  looking  man,  was 
103 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


standing  beside  a  gate  post.  He  nodded 
gloomily  to  Transome  Kent. 

"Are  you  bafifled,  Edwards?"  asked  Kent. 

"Baffled  again,  Mr.  Kent,"  said  the  Inspec- 
tor, with  a  sob  in  his  voice.  "I  thought  I  could 
have  solved  this  one,  but  I  can't." 

He  passed  a  handkerchief  across  his  eyes. 

"Have  a  cigar.  Chief,"  said  Kent,  "and  let 
me  hear  what  the  trouble  Is." 

The  Inspector  brightened.  Like  all  poHce- 
men,  he  was  simply  crazy  over  cigars.  "All 
right,  Mr.  Kent,"  he  said,  "wait  till  I  chase 
away  the  morbid  curiosity  seekers." 

He  threw  a  stick  at  them. 

"Now,  then,"  continued  Kent,  "what  about 
tracks,  footmarks,  had  you  thought  of  them?" 

"Yes,  first  thing.  The  whole  lawn  is  cov- 
ered with  them,  all  stamped  down.  Look  at 
these,  for  instance.  These  are  the  tracks  of 
a  man  with  a  wooden  leg," — Kent  nodded — "In 
all  probability  a  sailor,  newly  landed  from 
Java,  carrying  a  Singapore  walking  stick,  and 
with  a  tin  whistle  tied  round  his  belt." 

"Yes,  I  see  that,"  said  Kent  thoughtfully. 
104 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

"The  weight  of  the  whistle  weighs  him  down 
a  little  on  the  right  side." 

"Do  you  think,  Mr.  Kent,  a  sailor  from  Java 
with  a  wooden  leg  would  commit  a  murder  like 
this?"  asked  the  Inspector  eagerly.  "Would 
he  do  It?" 

"He  would,"  said  the  Investigator.  "They 
generally  do — as  soon  as  they  land." 

The  Inspector  nodded.  "And  look  at  these 
marks  here,  Mr.  Kent.  You  recognize  them, 
surely — those  are  the  footsteps  of  a  barkeeper 
out  of  employment,  waiting  for  the  eighteenth 
amendment  to  pass  away — see  how  deeply  they 
sink  In " 

"Yes,"   said  Kent,   "he'd  commit  murder." 

"There  are  lots  more,"  continued  the  In- 
spector, "but  they're  no  good.  The  morbid 
curiosity  seekers  were  walking  all  over  this 
place  while  we  were  drawing  the  cordon 
round  it." 

"Stop  a  bit,"  said  Kent,  pausing  to  think  a 
moment.     "What  about  thumb-prints?'* 

"Thumb-prints !"  said  the  Inspector.  "Don't 
mention  them.  The  house  is  full  of  them." 
105 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


*'Any  thumb-prints  of  Italians  with  that  pe- 
culiar Incurvature  of  the  ball  of  the  thumb 
that  denotes  a  Sicilian  brigand?" 

"There  were  three  of  those,"  said  Inspector 
Edwards  gloomily.  "No,  Mr.  Kent,  the  thumb 
stuff  Is  no  good." 

Kent  thought  again. 

"Inspector,"  he  said,  "what  about  mysteri- 
ous women?     Have  you   seen   any   around?" 

"Four  went  by  this  morning,"  said  the  In- 
spector, "one  at  eleven  thirty,  one  at  twelve 
thirty,  and  two  together  at  one  thirty.  At 
least,"  he  added,  sadly,  "I  think  they  were 
mysterious.  All  women  look  mysterious 
to  me." 

"I  must  try  In  another  direction,"  said  Kent. 
"Let  me  reconstruct  the  whole  thing.  I  must 
weave  a  chain  of  analysis.  Klvas  Kelly  was 
a  bachelor,  was  he  not?" 

"He  was.     He  lived  alone  here." 

"Very  good.  I  suppose  he  had  In  his  em- 
ploy a  butler  who  had  been  with  him  for  twenty 
years " 


Edwards  nodded. 

io6 


Who  Do  Yow  Think  Did  It? 

"I  suppose  you've  arrested  him?" 

"At  once,"  said  the  Inspector.  "We  always 
arrest  the  butler,  Mr.  Kent.  They  expect  it. 
In  fact,  this  man,  Williams,  gave  himself  up 
at  once." 

"And  let  me  see,"  continued  the  Investi- 
gator. "I  presume  there  was  a  housekeeper 
who  lived  on  the  top  floor  and  who  had  been 
stone  deaf   for  ten  years." 

"Precisely." 

"She  had  heard  nothing  during  the  murder?" 

"Not  a  thing.  But  this  may  have  been  on 
account  of  her  deafness." 

"True,  true,"  murmured  Kent.  "And  I  sup- 
pose there  was  a  coachman,  a  thoroughly  re- 
liable man,  who  lived  with  his  wife  at  the  back 
of  the  house " 

"But  who  had  taken  his  wife  over  to  see 
a  relation  on  the  night  of  the  murder  and  who 
did  not  return  until  an  advanced  hour.  Mr. 
Kent,  we've  been  all  over  that.  There's  noth- 
ing in  it." 

"Were  there  any  other  persons  belonging  to 
the  establishment?" 

107 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


"There  was  Mr.  Kelly's  stenographer,  Alice 
Delary,  but  she  only  came  In  the  mornings." 

"Have  you  seen  her?"  asked  Kent  eagerly. 
"What  is  she  like?" 

"I  have  seen  her,"  said  the  Inspector,  "she's 
a  looloo." 

"Ha!"  said  Kent,  "a  looloo!"  The  two  men 
looked  into  one  another's  eyes. 

"Yes,"  repeated  Edwards  thoughtfully,  "a 
peach." 

A  sudden  swift  flash  of  intuition,  an  inspira- 
tion, leapt  into  the  young  reporter's  brain. 

This  girl,  this  peach,  at  all  hazards  he  must 
save  her  life. 


CHAPTER  III 

I  MUST  BUY  A  BOOK  ON  BILLIARDS 

Kent  turned  to  the  Inspector.  "Take  me 
into  the  house,"  he  said.  Edwards  led  the 
way.  The  interior  of  the  handsome  mansion 
seemed  undisturbed.  "I  see  no  sign  of  a  strug- 
gle here,"  said  Kent. 

io8 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

''No,"  answered  the  Inspector  gloomily. 
''We  can  find  no  sign  of  a  struggle  anywhere. 
But  then  we  never  do." 

He  opened  for  the  moment  the  door  of  the 
stately  drawing  room.  "No  sign  of  a  struggle 
there,"  he  said.  The  closed  blinds,  the  draped 
furniture,  the  covered  piano,  the  muffled  chan- 
delier, showed  absolutely  no  sign  of  a  struggle. 

"Come  upstairs  to  the  billiard  room,"  said 
Edwards.  "The  body  has  been  removed  for 
the  Inquest,  but  nothing  else  Is  disturbed." 

They  went  upstairs.  On  the  second  floor 
was  the  billiard  room  with  a  great  English 
table  in  the  centre  of  it. 

But  Kent  had  at  once  dashed  across  to  the 
window,  an  exclamation  on  his  lips.  "Ha  !  ha  !" 
he  said,  "what  have  we  here?" 

The  Inspector  shook  his  head  quietly.  "The 
window,"  he  said  In  a  monotonous,  almost  sing- 
song tone,  "has  apparently  been  opened  from 
the  outside,  the  sash  being  lifted  with  some 
kind  of  a  sharp  Instrument.  The  dust  on  the 
sill  outside  has  been  disturbed  as  If  by  a  man 
of  extraordinary  agility  lying  on  his  stom- 
109 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


ach Don't  bother  with  tuat,  Mr.  Kent. 

It's  always  there." 

''True/'  said  Kent.  Then  he  cast  his  eyes 
upward  and  again  an  involuntary  exclamation 
broke  from  him. 

"Did  you  see  that  trap  door?"  he  asked. 

"We  did,"  said  Edwards,  "the  dust  around 
the  rim  has  been  disturbed.  The  trap  opens 
into  the  hollow  of  the  roof.  A  man  of  ex- 
traordinary dexterity  might  open  the  trap  with 
a  billiard  cue,  throw  up  a  fine  manila  rope, 
climb  up  the  rope  and  lie  there  on  his 
stomach." 

"No  use,"  continued  the  Inspector.  "For 
the  matter  of  that  look  at  this  huge  old-fash- 
ioned fireplace.  A  man  of  extraordinary  pre- 
cocity could  climb  up  the  chimney.  Or  this 
dumb-waiter  on  a  pulley,  for  serving  drinks, 
leading  down  into  the  maids'  quarters.  A  man 
of  extreme  indelicacy  might  ride  up  and  down 
in  it." 

"Stop  a  minute,"  said  Kent,  "what  is  the 
meaning  of  that  hat?" 

no 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

A  light  gossamer  hat,  gay  with  flowers  hung 
on  a  peg  at  the  side  of  the  room. 

*'We  thought  of  that,"  said  Edwards,  *'and 
we  have  left  it  there.  Whoever  comes  for  that 
hat  has  had  a  hand  in  the  mystery.  We 
think " 

But  Transome  Kent  was  no  longer  listening. 
He  had  seized  the  edge  of  the  billiard  table. 

"Look,  look,"  he  cried  eagerly.  "The  clue 
to  the  mystery!  The  positions  of  the  billiard 
balls!  The  white  ball  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  table,  and  the  red  just  standing  on  the 
verge  of  the  end  pocket!  What  does  it  mean, 
Edwards,  what  does  it  mean?" 

He  had  grasped  Edwards  by  the  arm  and 
was  peering  into  his  face. 

'T  don't  know,"  said  the  Inspector.  "I  don't 
play  billiards." 

"Neither  do  I,"  said  Kent,  "but  I  can  find 
out.  Quick!  The  nearest  bookstore.  I  must 
buy  a  book  on  Billiards." 

With  a  wave  of  the  arm,  Kent  vanished. 

The  Inspector  stood  for  a  moment  in 
thought. 

Ill 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


*'Gone!"  he  murmured  to  himself  (It  was 
his  habit  to  murmur  all  really  important 
speeches  aloud  to  himself).  "Now  why  did 
Throgton  telephone  to  me  to  put  a  watch  on 
Kent?  Ten  dollars  a  day  to  shadow  him! 
Why?" 

CHAPTER  IV 

THAT   IS   NOT   BILLIARD   CHALK 

Meantime  at  the  Planet  office  Masterman 
Throgton  was  putting  on  his  coat  to  go  home. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  an  employee,  "there's 
a  lot  of  green  billiard  chalk  on  your  sleeve." 

Throgton  turned  and  looked  the  man  full 
in  the  eye. 

"That  is  not  billiard  chalk,"  he  said,  "it  is 
face   powder." 

Saying  which  this  big,  imperturbable,  self- 
contained  man  stepped  into  the  elevator  and 
went  to  the  ground  floor  in  one  drop. 


1X2 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 
CHAPTER  V 

HAS  ANYBODY  HERE  SEEN  KELLY? 

The  inquest  upon  the  body  of  Kivas  Kelly 
was  held  upon  the  following  day.  Far  from 
offering  any  solution  of  what  had  now  become 
an  unfathomable  mystery,  it  only  made  it 
deeper  still.  The  medical  testimony,  though 
given  by  the  most  distinguished  consulting  ex- 
pert of  the  city,  was  entirely  inconclusive.  The 
body,  the  expert  testified,  showed  evident 
marks  of  violence.  There  was  a  distinct  lesion 
of  the  oesophagus  and  a  decided  excoriation  of 
the  fibula.  The  mesodenum  was  gibbous. 
There  was  a  certain  quantity  of  flab  in  the 
binomlum  and  the  proscenium  was  wide  open. 

One  striking  fact,  however,  was  decided 
from  the  testimony  of  the  expert,  namely,  that 
the  stomach  of  the  deceased  was  found  to  con- 
tain half  a  pint  of  arsenic.  On  this  point 
the  questioning  of  the  district  attorney  was 
close  and  technical.  Was  it  unusual,  he  asked, 
to  find  arsenic  in  the  stomach  ?  In  the  stomach 
113 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


of  a  club  man,  no.  Was  not  half  a  pint  a 
large  quantity?  He  would  not  say  that.  Was 
it  a  small  quantity?  He  should  not  care  to 
say  that  it  was.  Would  half  a  pint  of  arsenic 
cause  death?  Of  a  club  man,  no,  not  neces- 
sarily.   That  was  all. 

The  other  testimony  submitted  to  the  in- 
quest jury  brought  out  various  facts  of  a  sub- 
stantive character,  but  calculated  rather  to 
complicate  than  to  unravel  the  mystery.  The 
butler  swore  that  on  the  very  day  of  the  mur- 
der he  had  served  his  master  a  half  pint  of 
arsenic  at  lunch.  But  he  claimed  that  this  was 
quite  a  usual  happening  with  his  master.  On 
cross-examination  it  appeared  that  he  meant 
apollinaris.  He  was  certain,  however,  that 
it  was  half  a  pint.  The  butler,  it  was  shown, 
had  been  in  Kivas  Kelly's  employ  for  twenty 
years. 

The  coachman,  an  Irishman,  was  closely 
questioned.  He  had  been  in  Mr.  Kelly's  em- 
ploy for  three  years — ever  since  his  arrival 
from  the  old  country.  Was  it  true  that  he  had 
had,  on  the  day  of  the  murder,  a  violent  quarrel 
114 


Who  Do  Yon  Think  Did  It? 

with  his  master?  It  was.  Had  he  threatened 
to  kill  him?  No.  He  had  threatened  to  knock 
his  block  off,  but  not  to  kill  him. 

The  coroner  looked  at  his  notes.  "Call 
Alice  Delary,"  he  commanded.  There  was 
a  deep  sensation  In  the  court  as  Miss  Delary 
quietly  stepped  forward  to  her  place  In  the  wit- 
ness box. 

Tall,  graceful  and  willowy,  Alice  Delary  was 
in  her  first  burst  of  womanhood.  Those  who 
looked  at  the  beautiful  girl  realised  that  If  her 
first  burst  was  like  this,  what  would  the  sec- 
ond, or  the  third  be  like? 

The  girl  was  trembling,  and  evidently  dis- 
tressed, but  she  gave  her  evidence  In  a  clear, 
sweet,  low  voice.  She  had  been  in  Mr.  Kelly's 
employ  three  years.  She  was  his  stenographer. 
But  she  came  only  in  the  mornings  and  always 
left  at  lunch  time.  The  question  Immediately 
asked  by  the  jury — "Where  did  she  generally 
have  lunch?" — was  disallowed  by  the  coroner. 
Asked  by  a  member  of  the  jury  what  system 
of  shorthand  she  used,  she  answered,  "Pit- 
man's." Asked  by  another  juryman  whether 
115 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


she  ever  cared  to  go  to  moving  pictures,  she 
said  that  she  went  occasionally.  This  created 
a  favourable  impression.  "Miss  Delary,"  said 
the  district  attorney,  "I  want  to  ask  if  it  is 
your  hat  that  was  found  hanging  in  the  bil- 
liard room  after  the  crime?" 

"Don't  you  dare  ask  that  girl  that,''  inter- 
rupted the  magistrate.  "Miss  Delary  you  may 
step  down." 

But  the  principal  sensation  of  the  day  arose 
out  of  the  evidence  offered  by  Masterman 
Throgton,  general  manager  of  the  Planet. 
Kivas  Kelly,  he  testified,  had  dined  with  him 
at  his  club  on  the  fateful  evening.  He  had 
afterwards  driven  him  to  his  home. 

"When  you  went  into  the  house  with  the 
deceased,"  asked  the  district  attorney,  "how 
long  did  you  remain  there  with  him?" 

"That,"  said  Throgton  quietly,  "I  must  re- 
fuse to  answer." 

"Would  it  incriminate  you?"  asked  the  cor- 
oner, leaning  forward. 

"It  might,"  said  Throgton. 

"Then  you're  perfectly  right  not  to  answer 
ii6 


Who  Do  Yow  Think  Did  It? 

it,"   said  the  coroner.     ^'Don't  ask  him  that 
any  more.      Ask  something  else." 

'*Then  did  you,"  questioned  the  attorney, 
turning  to  Throgton  again,  "did  you  play  a 
game  of  billiards  with  the  deceased?" 

"Stop,  stop,"  said  the  coroner,  "that  ques- 
tion I  can't  allow.  It's  too  direct,  too  brutal; 
there's  something  about  that  question,  some- 
thing mean,  dirty.     Ask  another." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  Attorney.  "Then  tell 
me,  Mr.  Throgton,  if  you  ever  saw  this  blue 
envelope  before?"  He  held  up  In  his  hand  a 
long  blue  envelope. 

"Never  in  my  life,"  said  Throgton. 

"Of  course  he  didn't,"  said  the  coroner. 
"Let's  have  a  look  at  it.     What  is  it?" 

"This  envelope,  your  Honour,  was  found 
sticking  out  of  the  waistcoat  pocket  of  the  de- 
ceased." 

"You  don't  say,"  said  the  coroner.  "And 
what's  in  It?' 

Amid  breathless  silence,  the  attorney  drew 
forth  a  sheet  of  blue  paper,  bearing  a  stamp 
and  read — 

117 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


''This  is  the  last  will  and  testament  of  me, 
Kivas  Kelly  of  New  York.  I  leave  everything 
of  which  I  die  possessed  to  my  nephew,  Peter 
Kelly." 

The  entire  room  gasped.  No  one  spoke. 
The  coroner  looked  all  around.  "Has  any- 
body here  seen  Kelly?"  he  asked. 

There  was  no  answer. 

The  coroner  repeated  the  question. 

No  one  moved. 

"Mr.  Coroner,"  said  the  attorney,  "it  is  my 
opinion  that  if  Peter  Kelly  is  found  the  mys- 
tery is  fathomed." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  jury  returned  a  ver- 
dict of  murder  against  a  person  or  persons  un- 
known, adding  that  they  would  bet  a  dollar 
that  Kelly  did  it. 

The  coroner  ordered  the  butler  to  be  re- 
leased, and  directed  the  issue  of  a  warrant  for 
the  arrest  of  Peter  Kelly. 


Ii8 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 
CHAPTER  VI 

SHOW  ME  THE  MAN  WHO  WORE  THOSE  BOOTS 

The  remains  of  the  unhappy  club  man  were 
burled  on  the  following  day  as  reverently  as 
those  of  a  club  man  can  be.  None  followed 
him  to  the  grave  except  a  few  morbid  curi- 
osity seekers  who  rode  on  top  of  the  hearse. 

The  great  city  turned  again  to  Its  usual  avo- 
vatlons.  The  unfathomable  mystery  was  dis- 
missed from  the  public  mind. 

Meantime  Transome  Kent  was  on  the  trail. 
Sleepless,  almost  foodless,  and  absolutely  drink- 
less,  he  was  everywhere.  He  was  looking  for 
Peter  Kelly.  Wherever  crowds  were  gath- 
ered, the  Investigator  was  there,  searching  for 
Kelly.  In  the  great  concourse  of  the  Grand 
Central  Station,  Kent  moved  to  and  fro  peer- 
ing Into  everybody's  face.  An  official  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder.  "Stop  peering  Into  the 
people's  faces,"  he  said.  "I  am  unravelling 
a  mystery,"  Kent  answered.  ''I  beg  your  par- 
don, sir,"  said  the  man,  ''I  didn't  know." 
119 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


Kent  was  here,  and  everywhere,  moving 
ceaselessly,  pro  and  con,  watching  for  Kelly. 
For  hours  he  stood  beside  the  soda  water 
fountains  examining  every  drinker  as  he  drank. 
For  three  days  he  sat  on  the  steps  of  Master- 
man  Throgton's  home,  disguised  as  a  plumber 
waiting  for  a  wrench. 

But  still  no  trace  of  Peter  Kelly.  Young 
Kelly,  it  appeared,  had  lived  with  his  Uncle 
until  a  little  less  than  three  years  ago.  Then 
suddenly  he  had  disappeared.  He  had  van- 
ished, as  a  brilliant  writer  for  the  New  York 
press  framed  it,  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed 
him  up. 

Transome  Kent,  however,  was  not  a  man  to 
be  baffled  by  initial  defeat. 

A  week  later,  the  Investigator  called  in  at 
the  office  of  Inspector  Edwards. 

**Inspector,"  he  said,  "I  must  have  some 
more  clues.  Take  me  again  to  the  Kelly  resi- 
dence.    I  must  re-analyse  my  first  diaeresis." 

Together  the  two  friends  went  to  the  house. 
*'It  is  inevitable,"  said  Kent,  as  they  entered 

I20 


Who  Do  Ycm  Think  Did  It? 

again  the  fateful  billiard  room,  "that  we  have 
overlooked  something." 

"We   always  do,"   said  Edwards   gloomily. 

"Now  tell  me,"  said  Kent  as  they  stood  be- 
side the  billiard  table,  "what  is  your  own  the- 
ory, the  police  theory,  of  this  murder?  Give 
me  your  first  theory  first,  and  then  go  on  with 
the  others." 

"Our  first  theory,  Mr.  Kent,  was  that  the 
murder  was  committed  by  a  sailor  with  a 
wooden  leg,  newly  landed  from  Java." 

"Quite  so,  quite  proper,"  nodded  Kent. 

"We  knew  that  he  was  a  sailor,"  the  In- 
spector went  on,  dropping  again  into  his  sing- 
song monotone,  "by  the  extraordinary  agility 
needed  to  climb  up  the  thirty  feet  of  bare  brick 
wall  to  the  window — a  landsman  could  not  have 
climbed  more  than  twenty;  the  fact  that  he 
was  from  the  East  Indies  we  knew  from  the 
peculiar  knot  about  his  victim's  neck.  We 
knew  that  he  had  a  wooden  leg " 

The  Inspector  paused  and  looked  troubled. 

" — We  knew  it,"  he  paused  again.  "I'm 
afraid  I  can't  remember  that  one." 

121 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


"Tut,  tut,"  said  Kent  gently,  *'you  knew  it, 
Edwards,  because  when  he  leaned  against  the 
billiard  table  the  impress  of  his  hand  on  the 
mahogany  was  deeper  on  one  side  than  the 
other.  The  man  was  obviously  top  heavy. 
But  you  abandoned  this  first  theory." 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Kent,  we  always  do.  Our 
second  theory  was " 

But  Kent  had  ceased  to  listen.  He  had  sud- 
denly stooped  down  and  picked  up  something 
off  the  floor. 

"Ha  !  ha  !"  he  exclaimed,  "what  do  you  make 
of  this?"  He  held  up  a  square  fragment  of 
black  cloth. 

"We  never  saw  it,"  said  Edwards. 

"Cloth,"  muttered  Kent,  "the  missing  piece 
of  Kivas  Kelly's  dinner  jacket."  He  whipped 
out  a  magnifying  glass.  "Look,"  he  said,  "it's 
been  stamped  upon — by  a  man  wearing  hob- 
nailed boots — made  in  Ireland — a  man  of  five 
feet  nine    and   a   half   inches  high " 

"One  minute,  Mr.  Kent,"  interrupted  the 
Inspector,  greatly  excited,  "I  don't  quite  get  it." 

"The  depth  of  the  dint  proves  the  lift  of 

122 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

his  foot,'*  said  Kent  impatiently,  "and  the  lift 
of  the  foot  Indicates  at  once  the  man's  height. 
Edwards,  find  me  the  man  who  wore  these 
boots  and  the  mystery  Is  solved!" 

At  that  very  moment  a  heavy  step,  unmis- 
takably, to  the  trained  ear,  that  of  a  man  In 
hob-nailed  boots,  was  heard  upon  the  stair. 
The  door  opened  and  a  man  stood  hesitating 
In  the  doorway. 

Both  Kent  and  Edwards  gave  a  start,  two 
starts,  of  surprise. 

The  man  was  exactly  five  feet  nine  and  a  half 
inches  high.  He  was  dressed  in  coachman's 
dress.     His  face  was  saturnine  and  evil. 

It  was  Dennis,  the  coachman  of  the  mur- 
dered man. 

"If  you're  Mr.  Kent,"  he  said,  "there's  a 
lady  here  asking  for  you." 

CHAPTER  VII 

OH,  MR.  KENT,  SAVE  ME  ! 

In  another  moment  an  absolutely  noiseless 
step  was  heard  upon  the  stair. 
123 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


A  young  girl  entered,  a  girl  tall,  willowy 
and  beautiful,  in  the  first  burst,  or  just  about 
the  first  burst,  of  womanhood. 

It  was  Alice  Delary. 

She  was  dressed  with  extreme  taste,  but 
Kent's  quick  eye  noted  at  once  that  she  wore 
no  hat. 

"Mr.  Kent,"  she  cried,  ''you  are  Mr.  Kent, 
are  you  not?  They  told  me  that  you  were  here 
— Oh,  Mr.  Kent,  help  me,  save  me!" 

She  seemed  to  shudder  Into  herself  a  mo- 
ment.    Her  breath  came  and  went  quickly. 

She  reached  out  her  two  hands. 

"Calm  yourself,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said 
Kent,  taking  them.  "Don't  let  your  breath 
come  and  go  so  much.  Trust'  me.  Tell 
me  all." 

"Mr.  Kent,"  said  Delary,  regaining  her  con- 
trol, but  still  trembling,  "I  want  my  hat." 

Kent  let  go  the  beautiful  girl's  hands.  "Sit 
down,"  he  said.  Then  he  went  across  the 
room  and  fetched  the  hat,  the  light  gossamer 
hat  with  flowers  in  it,  that  still  hung  on  a  peg. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  get  it  back,"  cried  the 
124 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

girl.  "I  can  never  thank  you  enough.  I  was 
afraid  to  come  for  it." 

''It  Is  all  right,"  said  the  Inspector.  "The 
police  theory  was  that  it  was  the  housekeeper's 
hat.     You  are  welcome  to  it." 

Kent  had  been  looking  closely  at  the  girl 
before  him. 

"You  have  more  to  say  than  that,"  he  said. 
"Tell  me  all." 

"Oh,  I  will.  I  will,  Mr.  Kent,  that  dread- 
ful night !  I  was  here.  I  saw,  at  least  I  heard 
it   all." 

She  shuddered. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Kent,  it  was  dreadful.  I  had 
come  back  that  evening  to  the  library  to  finish 
some  work.  I  knew  that  Mr.  Kelly  was  to 
dine  out  and  that  I  would  be  alone.  I  had  been 
working  quietly  for  some  time  when  I  became 
aware  of  voices  In  the  billiard  room.  I  tried 
not  to  listen,  but  they  seemed  to  be  quarrel- 
ling, and  I  couldn't  help  hearing.  Oh,  Mr. 
Kent,   was  I  wrong?" 

"No,"  said  Kent,  taking  her  hand  a  mo- 
ment, "you  were  not." 

125 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


"I  heard  one  say,  'Get  your  foot  off  the 
table,  youVe  no  right  to  put  your  foot  on  the 
table.'  Then  the  other  said,  'Well,  you  keep 
your  stomach  off  the  cushion  then.'  "  The 
girl  shivered.  "Then  presently  one  said,  quite 
fiercely,  'Get  back  into  balk  there,  get  back 
fifteen  inches,'  and  the  other  voice  said,  'By 
God!  I'll  shoot  from  here.'  Then  there  was  a 
dead  stillness,  and  then  a  voice  almost 
screamed,  'You've  potted  me.  You've  potted 
me.  That  ends  it.'  And  then  I  heard  the 
other  say  in  a  low  tone,  'Forgive  me,  I  didn't 
mean  it.     I  never  meant  it  to  end  that  way.' 

"I  was  so  frightened,  Mr.  Kent,  I  couldn't 
stay  any  longer.  I  rushed  down  stairs  and  ran 
all  the  way  home.  Then  next  day  I  read  what 
had  happened,  and  I  knew  that  I  had  left  my 
hat  there  and  was  afraid.  Oh,  Mr.  Kent, 
save  me." 

"Miss  Delary,"  said  the  Investigator,  taking 
again  the  girl's  hands  and  looking  into  her 
eyes.  "You  are  safe.  Tell  me  only  one  thing. 
The  man  who  played  against  Klvas  Kelly — 
did  you  see  him?" 

126 


Who  Do  Yaw  Think  Did  It? 

''Only  for  one  moment,"  the  girl  paused, 
"through  the  keyhole." 

"What  was  he  like?"  asked  Kent,  "had  he 
an  impenetrable  face?" 

"He   had." 

"Was  there  anything  massive  about  his 
face?" 

"Oh,  yes,  yes.  It  was  all  massive." 

"Miss  Delary,"  said  Kent,  "this  mystery  is 
now  on  the  brink  of  solution.  When  I  have 
joined  the  last  links  of  the  chain,  may  I  come 
and  tell  you  all?" 

She  looked  full  In  his  face. 

"At  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night,"  she  said, 
"you  may  come." 

Then  she  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

YOU  ARE   PETER  KELLY 

Within   a    few   moments   Kent  was   at   the 
phone. 

"I  want  four,  four,  four,  four.     Is  that  four, 
127 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


four,  four,  four?  Mr.  Throgton's  house?  I 
want  Mr.  Throgton.  Mr.  Throgton  speak- 
ing? Mr.  Throgton,  Kent  speaking.  The 
Riverside  mystery  Is  solved." 

Kent  waited  In  silence  a  moment.  Then  he 
heard  Throgton's  voice — not  a  note  In  It  dis- 
turbed. 

*'Has  anybody  found  Kelly?" 

"Mr.  Throgton,"  said  Kent,  and  he  spoke 
with  a  strange  meaning  In  his  tone.  "The  story 
Is  a  long  one.  Suppose  I  relate  It  to  you,"  he 
paused,  and  laid  a  peculiar  emphasis  on  what 
followed,  ^'over  a  game  of  billiards/^ 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean?"  answered 
Throgton. 

"Let  me  come  round  to  your  house  and  tell 
the  story.  There  are  points  In  It  that  I  can 
best  Illustrate  over  a  billiard  table.  Suppose 
I  challenge  you  to  a  fifty  point  game  before  I 

tell  my  story." 

******* 

It  required  no  little  hardihood  to  challenge 
Masterman  Throgton  at  billiards.    His  reputa- 
tion at  his  club  as  a  cool,  determined  player 
128 


Who  Do  Yow  Think  Did  It? 

was  surpassed  by  few.  Throgton  had  been 
known  to  run  nine,  ten,  and  even  twelve  at  a 
break.  It  was  not  unusual  for  him  to  drive 
his  ball  clear  off  the  table.  His  keen  eye  told 
him  infallibly  where  each  of  the  three  balls 
was;  instinctively  he  knew  which  to  shoot  with. 

In  Kent,  however,  he  had  no  mean  adver- 
sary. The  young  reporter,  though  he  had 
never  played  before,  had  studied  his  book  to 
some  purpose.  His  strategy  was  admirable. 
Keeping  his  ball  well  under  the  shelter  of  the 
cushion,  he  eluded  every  stroke  of  his  ad- 
versary and  In  his  turn  caused  his  ball  to  leap 
or  dart  across  the  table  with  such  speed  as  to 
bury  Itself  in  the  pocket  at  the  side. 

The  score  advanced  rapidly,  both  players 
standing  precisely  equal.  At  the  end  of  the 
first  half  hour  It  stood  at  ten  all.  Throgton,  a 
grim  look  upon  his  face,  had  settled  down  to 
work,  playing  with  one  knee  on  the  table.  Kent, 
calm  but  alive  with  excitement,  leaned  well  for- 
ward to  his  stroke,  his  eye  held  within  an  Inch 
of  the  ball. 

At  fifteen  they  were  still  even.  Throgton 
129 


^etk^  Nonsense  Novels 


with  a  sudden  effort  forced  a  break  of  three; 
but  Kent  rallied  and  In  another  twenty  min- 
utes they  were  even  again  at  nineteen  all. 

But  It  was  soon  clear  that  Transome  Kent 
had  something  else  In  mind  than  to  win  the 
game.  Presently  his  opportunity  came.  With 
a  masterly  stroke,  such  as  few  trained  players 
could  use,  he  had  potted  his  adversary's  ball. 
The  red  ball  was  left  over  the  very  jaws  of 
the  pocket.     The  white  was  In  the  centre. 

Kent  looked  Into  Throgton's  face. 

The  balls  were  standing  In  the  very  same 
position  on  the  table  as  on  the  night  of  the 
murder. 

"I  did  that  on  purpose,"  said  Kent  quietly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Throgton. 

"The  position  of  those  balls,"  said  Kent. 
"Mr.  Throgton,  come  Into  the  library.  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you.  You  know  already 
what  It  Is." 

They  went  Into  the  library.  Throgton,  his 
hand  unsteady,  lighted  a  cigar. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "what  Is  it?" 

"Mr.  Throgton,"  said  Kent,  "two  weeks  ago 
130 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

you  gave  me  a  mystery  to  solve.  Tonight  I 
can  give  you  the  solution.     Do  you  want  it?" 

Throgton's  face  never  moved. 

"WeU?"  he  said. 

"A  man's  life,"  Kent  went  on,  ''may  be 
played  out  on  a  billiard  table.  A  man's  soul, 
Throgton,  may  be  pocketed." 

"What  devil's  foolery  is  this?"  said  Throg- 
ton.    "What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  your  crime  is  known — plotter, 
schemer  that  you  are,  you  are  found  out — 
hypocrite,  traitor,  yes,  Masterman  Throgton, 
or  rather — let  me  give  you  your  true  name — 
Peter  Kelly,  murderer,  I  denounce  you!"  ; 

Throgton  never  flinched.  He  walked  across 
to  where  Kent  stood,  and  with  his  open  palm 
he  slapped  him  over  the  mouth. 

"Transome  Kent,"  he  said,  "you're  a  liar." 

Then  he  walked  back  to  his  chair  and  sat 
down. 

"Kent,"  he  continued,  "from  the  first  mo- 
ment of  your  mock  investigation,  I  knew  who 
you  were.  Your  every  step  was  shadowed, 
your  every  movement  dogged.  Transome 
131 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


Kent — by  your  true  name,  Peter  Kelly ,  mur- 
derer, I  denounce  you." 

Kent  walked  quietly  across  to  Throgton  and 
dealt  him  a  fearful  blow  behind  the  ear. 

"You're  a  liar,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  Peter 
Kelly." 

They  sat  looking  at  one  another. 

At    that    moment    Throgton's    servant    ap- 
peared at  the  door. 

"A  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir." 

"Who?"  said  Throgton. 

"I  don't  know,  sir,  he  gave  his  card." 

Masterman  Throgton  took  the  card. 

On  it  was  printed — 

PETER  KELLY 


CHAPTER  IX 

LET  ME  TELL  YOU  THE  STORY  OF  MY  LIFEi 

For  a  moment  Throgton  and  Kent  sat  look- 
ing at  one  another. 

"Show  the  man  up,"  said  Throgton. 
A  minute  later  the  door  opened  and  a  man 
132 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

entered.  Kent's  keen  eye  analyzed  him  as  he 
stood.  His  blue  clothes,  his  tanned  face,  and 
the  extraordinary  dexterity  of  his  fingers  left 
no  doubt  of  his  calling.    He  was  a  sailor. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Throgton. 

''Thank  you,"  said  the  sailor,  "it  rests  my 
wooden  leg." 

The  two  men  looked  again.  One  of  the 
sailor's  legs  was  made  of  wood.  With  a  start 
Kent  noticed  that  it  was  made  of  East  Indian 
sandalwood. 

"I've  just  come  from  Java,"  said  Kelly  quiet- 
ly, as  he  sat  down. 

Kent  nodded.  "I  see  it  all  now,"  he  said. 
"Throgton,  I  wronged  you.  We  should  have 
known  it  was  a  sailor  with  a  wooden  leg  from 
Java.     There  is  no  other  way." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Peter  Kelly,  "I've  come 
to  make  my  confession.  It  is  the  usual  and 
right  thing  to  do,  gentlemen,  and  I  want  to  go 
through  with  it  while  I  can." 

"One  moment,"  said  Kent,  "do  you  mind  in- 
terrupting yourself  with  a  hacking  cough?" 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Kelly,  "I'll  get  to 
^33 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


that   a  little  later.     Let  me  begin  by  telling 
you  the  story  of  my  life." 

"No,  no,"  urged  Throgton  and  Kent,  "don't 
do  that!" 

Kelly  frowned.  "I  think  I  have  a  right  to," 
he  said.  "You've  got  to  hear  it.  As  a  boy  I 
had  a  wild,  impulsive  nature.  Had  it  been 
curbed " 

"But  it  wasn't,"  said  Throgton,  "what 
next?" 

"I  was  the  sole  relative  of  my  uncle,  and 
heir  to  great  wealth.  Pampered  with  every 
luxury,  I  was  on  a  footing  of " 

"One  minute,"  interrupted  Kent,  rapidly  an- 
alyzing, as  he  listened,  "how  many  legs  had 
you  then?" 

"Two; — on  a  footing  of  ease  and  indolence. 
I  soon  lost " 

"Your  leg,"  said  Throgton.  "Mr.  Kelly, 
pray  come  to  the  essential  things." 

"I  will,"  said  the  sailor.  "Gentlemen,  bad 
as  I  was,  I  was  not  altogether  bad." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Kent  and  Throgton 
134 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

soothingly.  "Probably  not  more  than  ninety 
per  cent." 

"Even  Into  my  life,  gentlemen,  love  entered. 
If  you  had  seen  her  you  would  have  known  that 
she  Is  as  innocent  as  the  driven  snow.  Three 
years  ago  she  came  to  my  uncle's  house.  I 
loved  her.  One  day,  hardly  knowing  what  I 
was  doing,  I  took  her "  he  paused. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Throgton  and  Kent,  "you 
took  her?" 

"To  the  Aquarium.  My  uncle  heard  of  It. 
There  was  a  violent  quarrel.  He  disinherited 
me  and  drove  me  from  the  house.  I  had  a 
liking  for  the  sea  from  a  boy." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Kent,  "from  what  boy?" 

Kelly  went  right  on.  "I  ran  away  as  a  sailor 
before  the  mast." 

"Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Kent,  "I  am  not 
used  to  sea  terms.  Why  didn't  you  run  behind 
the  mast?" 

"Hear  me  out,"   said  Kelly,   "I  am  nearly 

done.      We   sailed   for   the   East   Indies — for 

Java.     There  a  Malay  pirate  "bit  off  my  leg. 

I  returned  home,  bitter,  disillusioned,  the  mere 

^35 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


wreck  that  you  see.  I  had  but  one  thought.  I 
meant  to  kill  my  uncle." 

For  a  moment  a  hacking  cough  interrupted 
Kelly.  Kent  and  Throgton  nodded  quietly  to 
one  another. 

"I  came  to  his  house  at  night.  With  the 
aid  of  my  wooden  leg  I  scaled  the  wall,  lifted 
the  window  and  entered  the  billiard  room. 
There  was  murder  in  my  heart.  Thank  God 
I  was  spared  from  that.  At  the  very  moment 
when  I  got  In,  a  light  was  turned  on  in  the 
room  and  I  saw  before  me — but  no,  I  will 
not  name  her — my  better  angel.  'Peter!'  she 
cried,  then  with  a  woman's  intuition  she  ex- 
claimed, 'you  have  come  to  murder  your  uncle. 
Don't  do  it.'  My  whole  mood  changed.  I 
broke  down  and  cried  like  a — like  a " 

Kelly  paused  a  moment. 

"Like  a  boob,"  said  Kent  softly,  "go  on." 

"When  I  had  done  crying,  we  heard  voices. 

'Quick,'  she  exclaimed,  'flee,  hide,  he  must  not 

see  you.'     She  rushed  into  the  adjoining  room, 

closing  the  door.    My  eye  had  noticed  already 

136 


Who  Do  Ymi  Think  Did  It? 

the  trap  above.  I  climbed  up  to  It.  Shall  I 
explain  how?" 

"Don't,"  said  Kent,  "I  can  analyze  It  after- 
wards." 

"There  I  saw  what  passed.  I  saw  Mr.  Throg- 
ton  and  Klvas  Kelly  come  In.  I  watched  their 
game.  They  were  greatly  excited  and  quar- 
relled over  It.     Throgton  lost." 

The  big  man  nodded  with  a  scowl.  "By  his 
potting  the  white,"  he  said. 

"Precisely,"  said  Kelly,  "he  missed  the  red. 
Your  analysis  was  wrong,  Mr.  Kent.  The  game 
ended.  You  started  your  reasoning  from  a  false 
diaeresis.  In  billiards  people  never  mark  the 
last  point.  The  board  still  showed  ninety- 
nine  all.  Throgton  left  and  my  uncle,  as 
often  happens,  kept  trying  over  the  last  shot 
— a  half  ball  shot,  sir,  with  the  red  over  the 
pocket.  He  tried  again  and  again.  He 
couldn't  make  It.  He  tried  various  ways.  His 
rest  was  too  unsteady.  Finally  he  made  his  tie 
into  a  long  loop  round  his  neck  and  put  his  cue 
through  it.  *Now,  by  Gad  I'  he  said,  T  can 
do  it.'  " 

137 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


^'Ha !"  said  Kent.     'Tool  that  I  was." 

"Exactly,"  continued  Kelly.  "In  the  excite- 
ment of  watching  my  uncle  I  forgot  where  I 
was,  I  leaned  too  far  over  and  fell  out  of  the 
trap.  I  landed  on  uncle,  just  as  he  was  sitting 
on  the  table  to  shoot.     He  fell." 

"I  see  it  all!"  said  Kent.  "He  hit  his  head, 
the  loop  tightened,  the  cue  spun  round  and  he 
was  dead." 

"That's  it,"  said  Kelly.  "I  saw  that  he  was 
dead,  and  I  did  not  dare  to  remain.  I  straight- 
ened the  knot  in  his  tie,  laid  his  hands  reverent- 
ly across  his  chest,  and  departed  as  I  had 
come." 

"Mr.  Kelly,"  said  Throgton  thoughtfully, 
"the  logic  of  your  story  is  wonderful.  It  ex- 
ceeds anything  in  its  line  that  I  have  seen  pub- 
lished for  months.  But  there  is  just  one  point 
that  I  fail  to  grasp.     The  two  bullet  holes?" 

"They  were  old  ones,"  answered  the  sailor 
quietly.  "My  uncle  in  his  youth  had  led  a 
wild  life  in  the  west;  he  was  full  of  them." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Then 
KeUy  spoke  again. 

138 


Who  Do  Yon  Think  Did  It? 

*'My  time,  gentlemen,  Is  short."  (A  hack- 
ing cough  interrupted  him.)  "I  feel  that  I  am 
withering.  It  rests  with  you,  gentlemen, 
whether  or  not  I  walk  out  of  this  room  a  free 
man." 

Transome  Kent  rose  and  walked  over  to  the 
sailor. 

^'Mr.   Kelly,"  he  said,   "here  is  my  hand." 


CHAPTER  X 

so  DO  I 

A  few  days  after  the  events  last  narrated, 
Transome  Kent  called  at  the  boarding  house  of 
Miss  Alice  Delary.  The  young  Investigator 
wore  a  light  grey  tweed  suit,  with  a  salmon 
coloured  geranium  in  his  buttonhole.  There 
was  something  exultant  yet  at  the  sam^e  time 
grave  in  his  expression,  as  of  one  who  has 
taken  a  momentous  decision,  affecting  his  fu- 
ture life. 

"I  wonder,"  he  murmured,  "whether  I  am 
acting  for  my  happiness." 
139 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


He  sat  down  for  a  moment  on  the  stone 
steps  and  analyzed  himself. 

Then  he  rose. 

*'I  am/'  he  said,  and  rang  the  bell. 

*'Miss  Delary?"  said  a  maid,  "she  left  here 
two  days  ago.  If  you  are  Mr.  Kent,  the  note 
on  the  mantel-piece  is  for  you." 

Without  a  word  (Kent  never  wasted  them) 
the   Investigator  opened  the  note   and  read: 

"Dear  Mr.  Kent, 

"Peter  and  I  were  married  yesterday  morn- 
ing, and  have  taken  an  apartment  in  Java,  New 
Jersey.  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  Peter's 
cough  is  ever  so  much  better.  The  lawyers 
have  given  Peter  his  money  without  the  least 
demur. 

"We  both  feel  that  your  analysis  was  simply 
wonderful.  Peter  says  he  doesn't  know  where 
he  would  be  without  it. 

"Very  sincerely, 

"Alice  Kelly. 
"P.S. — I  forgot  to  mention  to  you  that  I 
140 


Who  Do  You  Think  Did  It? 

saw  Peter  In  the  billiard  room.    But  your  anal- 
ysis was  marvellous  just  the  same." 
******* 

That  evening  Kent  sat  with  Throgton  talk- 
ing over  the  details  of  the  tragedy. 

^'Throgton,"  he  said,  "It  has  occurred  to  me 
that  there  were  points  about  that  solution  that 
we  didn't  get  exactly  straight  somehow." 

*'Sa  do  I,"  said  Throgton. 


141 


V 

BROKEN  BARRIERS 

OR,  Red  Love  on  a  Blue  Island 

( The  kind  of  thing  that  has  replaced  the 

good  Old  Sea  Story) 


V, — Broken  Barriers:  or.  Red  Love  on  a 
Blue  Island 

IT  was  on  a  bright  August  afternoon  that 
I  stepped  on  board  the  Steamer  Patago- 
nia at  Southampton  outward  bound  for 
the  West  Indies  and  the  port  of  New 
Orleans. 

I  had  at  the  time  no  presentiment  of  disaster. 
I  remember  remarking  to  the  ship's  purser,  as 
my  things  were  being  carried  to  my  stateroom, 
that  I  had  never  in  all  my  travels  entered  upon 
any  voyage  with  so  little  premonition  of  acci- 
dent. ''Very  good,  Mr.  Borus,"  he  answered, 
''you  will  find  your  stateroom  in  the  starboard 
aisle  on  the  right."  I  distinctly  recall  remark- 
ing to  the  captain  that  I  had  never,  in  any  of 
my  numerous  seafarings,  seen  the  sea  of  a  more 
limpid  blue.  He  agreed  with  me  so  entirely, 
145 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


as  I  recollect  It,  that  he  did  not  even  trouble 
to  answer. 

Had  any  one  told  me  on  that  bright  summer 
afternoon  that  our  ship  would  within  a  week 
be  wrecked  among  the  Dry  Tortugas,  I  should 
have  laughed.  Had  any  one  informed  me  that 
I  should  find  myself  alone  on  a  raft  in  the  Car- 
ibbean Sea,  I  should  have  gone  into  hysterics. 

We  had  hardly  entered  the  waters  of  the 
Caribbean  when  a  storm  of  unprecedented  vio- 
lence broke  upon  us.  Even  the  Captain  had 
never,  so  he  said,  seen  anything  to  compare 
with  it.  For  two  days  and  nights  we  encoun- 
tered and  endured  the  full  fury  of  the  sea.  Our 
soup  plates  were  secured  with  racks  and  cov- 
ered with  lids.  In  the  smoking  room  our  glass- 
es had  to  be  set  In  brackets,  and,  as  our  steward, 
came  and  went  we  were  from  moment  to  mo- 
ment in  imminent  danger  of  seeing  him  washed 
overboard. 

On  the  third  morning  just  after  daybreak  the 

ship  collided  with  something,  probably  either 

a  floating  rock  or  one  of  the  dry  Tortugas.  She 

blew    out    her    four    funnels,    the    bowsprit 

146 


Broken  Barriers 


dropped  out  of  Its  place,  and  the  propeller 
came  right  off.  The  Captain,  after  a  brief 
consultation,  decided  to  abandon  her.  The 
boats  were  lowered,  and  the  sea  being  now  quite 
calm,  the  passengers  were  emptied  Into  them. 

By  what  accident  I  was  left  behind  I  cannot 
tell.  I  had  been  talking  to  the  second  mate  and 
telling  him  of  a  rather  similar  experience  of 
mine  In  the  China  Sea  and  holding  him  by  the 
coat  as  I  did  so,  when  quite  suddenly  he  took 
me  by  the  shoulders  and  rushing  me  Into  the 
deserted  smoking  room  said,  ''Sit  there,  Mr. 
Borus,  till  I  come  back  for  you."  The  fellow 
spoke  In  such  a  menacing  way  that  I  thought  it 
wiser  to  comply. 

When  I  came  out  they  were  all  gone.  By 
good  fortune  I  found  one  of  the  ship's  rafts 
still  lying  on  the  deck.  I  gathered  together 
such  articles  as  might  be  of  use  and  contrived,, 
though  how  I  do  not  know,  to  launch  It  into 
the  sea. 

On  my  second  morning  on  my  raft  I  was  sit- 
ting quietly  polishing  my  boots  and  talking  to 
myself  when  I  became  aware  of  an  object  float- 
147 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


ing  in  the  sea  close  beside  the  raft.  Judge  of 
my  feelings  when  I  realised  It  to  be  the  Inani- 
mate body  of  a  girl.  Hastily  finishing  my  boots 
and  stopping  talking  to  myself,  I  made  shift 
as  best  I  could  to  draw  the  unhappy  girl  to- 
wards me  with  a  hook. 

After  several  InefFectual  attempts  I  at  last 
managed  to  obtain  a  hold  of  the  girl's  clothing 
and  drew  her  on  to  the  raft. 

She  was  still  unconscious.  The  heavy  life- 
belt round  her  person  must  (so  I  divined)  have 
kept  her  afloat  after  the  wreck.  Her  clothes 
were  sodden,  so  I  reasoned,  with  the  sea  water. 

On  a  handkerchief  which  was  still  sticking 
Into  the  belt  of  her  dress,  I  could  see  letters 
embroidered.  Realizing  that  this  was  no  time 
for  hesitation  and  that  the  girl's  life  might  de- 
pend on  my  reading  her  name,  I  plucked  It 
forth.     It  was  Edith  Croyden. 

As  vigorously  as  I  could  I  now  set  to  work 
to  rub  her  hands.  My  idea  was  (partly)  to'  re- 
store her  circulation.  I  next  removed  her  boots 
which  were  now  rendered  useless,  as  I  argued, 
by  the  sea  water,  and  began  to  rub  her  feet. 
148 


Broken  Barriers 


I  was  just  considering  what  to  remove  next, 
when  the  girl  opened  her  eyes.  "Stop  rubbing 
my  feet,"  she  said. 

"Miss  Croyden,"  I  said,  "you  mistake  me." 

I  rose,  with  a  sense  of  pique  which  I  did  not 
trouble  to  conceal  and  walked  to  the  other  end 
of  the  raft.  I  turned  my  back  upon  the  girl 
and  stood  looking  out  upon  the  leaden  waters 
of  the  Caribbean  Sea.  The  ocean  was  now 
calm.     There  was  nothing  in  sight. 

I  was  still  searching  the  horizon  when  I 
heard  a  soft  footstep  on  the  raft  behind  mc, 
and  a  light  hand  was  laid  upon  my  shoulder. 
"Forgive  me,"  said  the  girPs  voice. 

I  turned  about.  Miss  Croyden  was  stand- 
ing behind  me.  She  had,  so  I  argued,  removed 
her  stockings  and  was  standing  in  her  bare  feet. 
There  is  something,  I  am  free  to  confess,  about 
a  woman  in  her  bare  feet  which  hits  me  where 
I  live.  With  Instinctive  feminine  taste  the  girl 
had  twined  a  piece  of  seaweed  in  her  hair. 
Seaweed,  as  a  rule,  gets  me  every  time.  But 
I  checked  myself. 

149 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


"Miss  Croyden,"  I  said,  "there  is  nothing 
to  forgive." 

At  the  mention  of  her  name  the  girl  blushed 
for  a  moment  and  seemed  about  to  say  some- 
thing, but  stopped. 

"Where  are  we?"  she  queried  presently. 

"I  don*t  know,"  I  answered  as  cheerily  as 
I  could,  "but  I  am  going  to  find  out." 

"How  brave  you  are!"  Miss  Croyden  ex- 
claimed. 

"Not  at  all,"  I  said,  putting  as  much  hearti- 
ness into  my  voice  as  I  was  able  to. 

The  girl  watched  my  preparations  with  in- 
terest. 

With  the  aid  of  a  bent  pin  hoisted  on  a  long 
pole  I  had  no  difficulty  in  ascertaining  our  lati- 
tude. ^ 

"Miss  Croyden,"  I  said,  "I  am  now  about 
to  ascertain  our  longitude.  To  do  this  I  must 
lower  myself  down  into  the  sea.  Pray  do  not 
be  alarmed  or  anxious.     I  shall  soon  be  back." 

With  the  help  of  a  long  line  I  lowered  my- 
self deep  down  into  the  sea  until  I  was  en- 
abled to  ascertain,  approximately  at  any  rate, 
150 


Broken  Barriers 


our  longitude.  A  fierce  thrill  went  through  me 
at  the  thought  that  this  longitude  was  our  lon- 
gitude, hers  and  mine.  On  the  way  up,  hand 
over  hand,  I  observed  a  long  shark  looking 
at  me.  Realizing  that  the  fellow  If  voracious 
might  prove  dangerous,  I  lost  but  little  time, 
indeed,  I  may  say  I  lost  absolutely  no  time.  In 
coming  up  the  rope. 

The  girl  was  waiting  for  me. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  back,"  she 
exclaimed,   clasping  her  hands. 

"It  was  nothing,"  I  said,  wiping  the  water 
from  my  ears  and  speaking  as  melodiously  as 
I  could. 

"Have  you  found  our  whereabouts?"  she 
asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "Our  latitude  is  nor- 
mal but  our  longitude  is,  I  fear,  at  least  three 
degrees  out  of  the  plumb.  I  am  afraid.  Miss 
Croyden,"  I  added,  speaking  as  mournfully  as 
I  knew  how,  "that  you  must  reconcile  your 
mind  to  spending  a  few  days  with  me  on  this 
raft." 

151 


New  NoTisense  Novels 


"Is  It  as  bad  as  that?"  she  munnured,  her 
eyes  upon  the  sea. 

In  the  long  day  that  followed,  I  busied  my- 
self as  much  as  I  could  with  my  work  upon  the 
raft  so  as  to  leave  the  girl  as  far  as  possible 
to  herself.  It  was,  so  I  argued,  absolutely 
necessary  to  let  her  feel  that  she  was  safe 
in  my  keeping.  Otherwise  she  might  jump  off 
the  raft  and  I  should  lose  her. 

I  sorted  out  my  various  cans  and  tins,  tested 
the  oil  in  my  chronometer,  arranged  in  neat 
order  my  various  ropes  and  apparatus  and  got 
my  frying  pan  into  readiness  for  any  emergency. 
Of  food  we  had  for  the  present  no  lack. 

With  the  approach  of  night  I  realised  that 
it  was  necessary  to  make  arrangements  for  the 
girl's  comfort.  With  the  aid  of  a  couple  of 
upright  poles  I  stretched  a  gray  blanket  across 
the  raft  so  as  to  make  a  complete  partition. 

"Miss  Croyden,"  I  said,  "this  end  of  the 
raft  is  yours.     Here  you  may  sleep  in  peace." 

"How  kind  you  are!"  the  girl  murmured. 

"You  will  be  quite  safe  from  interference," 
152 


Broken  Barriers 


I  added.     *'I  give  you  my  word  that  I  will  not 
obtrude  upon  you  In  any  way." 

*'How  chivalrous  you  are,"  she  said. 

"Not  at  all,"  I  answered,  as  musically  as  I 
could,  "understand  me,  I  am  now  putting  my 
head  over  this  partition  for  the  last  time.  If 
there  Is  anything  you  want  say  so  now." 

"Nothing,"  she  answered. 

"There  Is  a  candle  and  matches  beside  you. 
If  there  Is  anything  that  you  want  in  the  night, 
call  me  instantly.  Remember,  at  any  hour  I 
shall  be  here.     I  promise  It." 

"Good  night,"  she  murmured.  In  a  few  min- 
utes her  soft  regular  breathing  told  me  that 
she  was  asleep. 

I  went  forward  and  seated  myself  In  a  tar 
bucket,  with  my  head  against  the  mast,  to  get 
what  sleep  I  could. 

But  for  some  time — why  I  do  not  know — 
sleep  would  not  come. 

The  Image  of  Edith  Croyden  filled  my  mind. 

In  vain  I  told  myself  that  she  was  a  stranger 

to  me:   that — ^beyond  her  longitude — I  knew 

nothing  of  her.     In  some  strange  way  this  girl 

153 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


had  seized  hold  of  me  and  dominated  my 
senses. 

The  night  was  very  calm  and  still  with  great 
stars  In  a  velvet  sky.  In  the  darkness  I  could 
hear  the  water  lapping  the  edge  of  the  raft. 

I  remained  thus  in  deep  thought,  sinking  fur- 
ther and  further  into  the  tar  bucket.  By  the 
time  I  reached  the  bottom  of  it  I  realized  that 
I  was  In  love  with  Edith  Croyden. 

Then  the  thought  of  my  wife  occurred  to  me 
and  perplexed  me.  Our  unhappy  marriage  had 
taken  place  three  years  before.  We  brought 
to  one  another  youth,  wealth  and  position.  Yet 
our  marriage  was  a  failure.  My  wife — for 
what  reason  I  cannot  guess — seemed  to  find 
my  society  Irksome.  In  vain  I  tried  to  Interest 
her  with  narratives  of  my  travels.  They 
seemed — In  some  way  that  I  could  not  divine 
— to  fatigue  her.  "Leave  me  for  a  little, 
Harold,"  she  would  say  (I  forgot  to  mention 
that  my  name  is  Harold  Borus),  "I  have  a  pain 
In  my  neck."  At  her  own  suggestion  I  had 
taken  a  trip  around  the  world.  On  my  return 
she  urged  me  to  go  round  again.  I  was  going 
154 


Broken  Barriers 


round  for  the  third  time  when  the  wrecking 
of  the  steamer  had  Interrupted  my  trip. 

On  my  own  part,  too,  I  am  free  to  confess 
that  my  wife's  attitude  had  aroused  In  me  a 
sense  of  pique,  not  to  say  injustice.  I  am  not  In 
any  way  a  vain  man.  Yet  her  attitude  wound- 
ed me.  I  \v^ould  no  sooner  begin,  "When  I 
was  In  the  Himalayas  hunting  the  humpo  or 
humped  buffalo,"  than  she  would  Interrupt  and 
say,  "Oh,  Harold,  would  you  mind  going  down 
to  the  billiard  room  and  seeing  If  I  left  my 
cigarettes  under  the  billiard  table?"  When  I 
returned,  she  was  gone. 

By  agreement  we  had  arranged  for  a  divorce. 
On  my  completion  of  my  third  voyage  we  were 
to  meet  In  New  Orleans.  Clara  was  to  go 
there  on  a  separate  ship,  giving  me  the  choice 
of  oceans. 

Had  I  met  Edith  Croyden  three  months 
later  I  should  have  been  a  man  free  to  woo  and 
win  her.  As  It  was  I  was  bound.  I  must  put 
a  clasp  of  Iron  on  my  feelings.  I  must  wear 
a  mask.     Cheerful,  helpful,  and  full  of  narra- 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


tlve,  I  must  yet  let  fall  no  word  of  love  to  this 
defenceless  girl. 

After  a  great  struggle  I  rose  at  last  from 
the  tar  bucket,  feeling,  if  not  a  brighter,  at 
least  a  cleaner  man. 

Dawn  was  already  breaking.  I  looked  about 
me.  As  the  sudden  beams  of  the  tropic  sun 
illumined  the  placid  sea,  I  saw  immediately 
before  me,  only  a  hundred  yards  away,  an 
island.  A  sandy  beach  sloped  back  to  a  rocky 
eminence,  broken  with  scrub  and  jungle.  I 
could  see  a  little  stream  leaping  among  the 
rocks.  With  eager  haste  I  paddled  the  raft 
close  to  the  shore  till  it  ground  in  about  ten 
inches  of  water. 

I  leaped  into  the  water. 

With  the  aid  of  a  stout  line,  I  soon  made 
the  raft  fast  to  a  rock.  Then  as  I  turned  I 
saw  that  Miss  Croyden  was  standing  upon  the 
raft,  fully  dressed,  and  gazing  at  me.  The 
morning  sunlight  played  In  her  hair  and  her 
deep  blue  eyes  were  as  soft  as  the  Caribbean 
Sea  Itself. 

*'Don*t  attempt  to  wade  ashore,  Miss  Croy- 

156 


Broken  Barriers 


den,"  I  cried  in  agitation.  *'Pray  do  nothing 
rash.  The  waters  are  simply  Infested  with 
bacilli." 

"But  how  can  I  get  ashore?"  she  asked,  with 
a  smile  which  showed  all,  or  nearly  all,  of  her 
pearl-like  teeth. 

"Miss  Croyden,"  I  said,  ''there  is  only  one 
way.     I  must  carry  you." 

In  another  moment  I  had  walked  back  to 
the  raft  and  lifted  her  as  tenderly  and  rev- 
erently as  If  she  had  been  my  sister — Indeed 
more  so — in  my  arms. 

Her  weight  seemed  nothing.  When  I  get  a 
girl  like  that  in  my  arms  I  simply  don't  feel  it. 
Just  for  one  moment  as  I  clasped  her  thus  in 
my  arms,  a  fierce  thrill  ran  through  me.  But 
I  let  it  run. 

When  I  had  carried  her  well  up  the  sand 
close  to  the  little  stream,  I  set  her  down.  To 
my  surprise,  she  sank  down  in  a  limp  heap. 

The  girl  had  fainted. 

I  knew  that  it  was  no  time  for  hesitation. 

Running  to  the  stream,  I  filled  my  hat  with 
water  and  dashed  it  in  her  face.  Then  I  took 
157 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


up  a  handful  of  mud  and  threw  It  at  her  with 
all  my  force.  After  that  I  beat  her  with  my 
hat. 

At  length  she  opened  her  eyes  and  sat  up. 
"I  must  have  fainted,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
shiver.      "I  am  cold.      Oh,  if  we   could  only 
have  a  fire." 

"I  will  do  my  best  to  make  one,  Miss  Croy- 
den,"  I  replied,  speaking  as  gymnastically  as 
I  could.  ''I  will  see  what  I  can  do  with  two 
dry  sticks." 

"With  dry  sticks?"  queried  the  girl.  "Can 
you  light  a  fire  with  that?  How  wonderful 
you  are!" 

"I  have  often  seen  it  done,"  I  replied 
thoughtfully,  "when  I  was  hunting  the  humpo, 
or  humped  buffalo,  in  the  Himalayas,  it  was 
our  usual  method." 

"Have  you  really  hunted  the  humpo?"  she 
asked,  her  eyes  large  with  interest. 

"I  have  indeed,"  I  said,  "but  you  must  rest; 
later  on  I  will  tell  you  about  it." 

"I  wish  you  could  tell  me  now,"  she  said  with 
a  little  moan. 

158 


Broken  Barriers 


Meantime  I  had  managed  to  select  from 
the  driftwood  on  the  beach  two  sticks  that 
seemed  absolutely  dry.  Placing  them  carefully 
together,  in  Indian  fashion,  I  then  struck  a 
match  and  found  no  difficulty  in  setting  them 
on  fire. 

In  a  few  moments  the  girl  was  warming  her- 
self beside  a  generous  fire. 

Together  we  breakfasted  upon  the  beach  be- 
side the  fire,  discussing  our  plans  like  comrades. 

Our  meal  over,  I  rose. 

'T  will  leave  you  here  a  little,"  I  said, 
'Vhile  I  explore." 

With  no  great  difficulty  I  made  my  way 
through  the  scrub  and  climbed  the  eminence 
of  tumbled  rocks  that  shut  In  the  view. 

On  my  return  Miss  Croyden  was  still  seated 
by  the  fire,  her  head  In  her  hands. 

"Miss  Croyden,"  I  said,  "we  are  on  an 
island." 

"Is  It  inhabited?"  she  asked. 

"Once,  perhaps,  but  not  now.     It  is  one  of 
the  many  keys  of  the  West  Indies.     Here,  in 
159 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


old  buccaneering  days  the  pirates  landed  and 
careened  their  ships." 

"How  did  they  do  that?"  she  asked,  fasci- 
nated. 

"I  am  not  sure,"  I  answered.  "I  think  with 
white-wash.  At  any  rate,  they  gave  them  a 
good  careening.  But  since  then  these  solitudes 
are  only  the  home  of  the  sea  gull,  the  sea  mew, 
and  the  albatross. 

The  girl  shuddered. 

"How  lonely!"  she  said. 

"Lonely  or  not,"  I  said  with  a  laugh  (luck- 
ily I  can  speak  with  a  laugh  when  I  want  to), 
"I  must  get  to  work." 

I  set  myself  to  work  to  haul  up  and  arrange 
our  effects.  With  a  few  stones  I  made  a  rude 
table  and  seats.  I  took  care  to  laugh  and  sing 
as  much  as  possible  while  at  my  work.  The 
close  of  the  day  found  me  still  busy  with  my 
labours. 

"Miss  Croyden,"  I  said,  "I  must  now  ar- 
range a  place  for  you  to  sleep." 

With  the  aid  of  four  stakes  driven  deeply 
into  the  ground  and  with  blankets  strung  upon 
1 60 


Broken  Barriers 


them,  I  managed  to  fashion  a  sort  of  rude  tent, 
roofless,  but  otherwise  quite  sheltered. 

*'Miss  Croyden,"  I  said  when  all  was  done, 
"go  in  there." 

Then,  with  little  straps  which  I  had  fastened 
to  the  blankets,  I  buckled  her  In  reverently. 

"Good  night.  Miss  Croyden,"  I  said. 

"But  you,"  she  exclaimed,  "where  will  you 
sleep?" 

"Oh,  I?"  I  answered  speaking  as  exuberant- 
ly as  I  could,  "I  shall  do  very  well  on  the 
ground.  But  be  sure  to  call  me  at  the  slightest 
sound." 

Then  I  went  out  and  lay  down  in  a  patch 
of  cactus  plants. 

I  need  not  dwell  in  detail  upon  the  busy  and 
arduous  days  that  followed  our  landing  upon 
the  island.  I  had  much  to  do.  Each  morning 
I  took  our  latitude  and  longitude.  By  this  I 
then  set  my  watch,  cooked  porridge,  and  picked 
flowers  till  Miss  Croyden  appeared. 

With  every  day  the  girl  came  forth  from 
her  habitation  as  a  new  surprise  in  her  radiant 
i6i 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


beauty.  One  morning  she  had  bound  a  cluster 
of  wild  arbutus  about  her  brow.  Another  day 
she  had  twisted  a  band  of  convolvulus  around 
her  waist.  On  a  third  she  had  wound  herself 
up  in  a  mat  of  bull  rushes. 

With  her  bare  feet  and  wild  bull  rushes  all 
around  her,  she  looked  as  a  cave  woman  might 
have  looked,  her  eyes  radiant  with  the  Carib- 
bean dawn.  My  whole  frame  thrilled  at  the 
sight  of  her.  At  times  it  was  all  I  could  do 
not  to  tear  the  bull  rushes  off  her  and  beat 
her  with  the  heads  of  them.  But  I  schooled 
myself  to  restraint,  and  handed  her  a  rock  to 
sit  upon  and  passed  her  her  porridge  on  the 
end  of  a  shovel  with  the  calm  politeness  of 
a  friend. 

Our  breakfast  over,  my  more  serious  labours 
of  the  day  began.  I  busied  myself  with  haul- 
ing rocks  or  boulders  along  the  sand  to  build 
us  a  house  against  the  rainy  season.  With 
some  tackle  from  the  raft  I  had  made  myself 
a  set  of  harness  by  means  of  which  I  hitched 
myself  to  a  boulder.  By  getting  Miss  Croy- 
162 


Broken  Barriers 


den  to  beat  me  over  the  back  with  a  stick,  I 
found  that  I  made  fair  progress. 

But  even  as  I  worked  thus  for  our  common 
comfort,  my  mind  was  fiercely  filled  with  the 
thought  of  Edith  Croyden.  I  knew  that  if  once 
the  barriers  broke,  everything  would  be  swept 
away.  Heaven  alone  knows  the  effort  that 
it  cost  me.  At  times  nothing  but  the  sternest 
resolution  could  hold  my  fierce  impulses  in 
check.  Once  I  came  upon  the  girl  writing  in 
the  sand  with  a  stick.  I  looked  to  see  what 
she  had  written.  I  read  my  own  name  "Har- 
old." With  a  wild  cry  I  leapt  into  the  sea 
and  dived  to  the  bottom  of  it.  When  I  came 
up  I  was  calmer.  Edith  came  towards  me; 
all  dripping  as  I  was,  she  placed  her  hands 
upon  my  shoulders.  "How  grand  you  are!" 
she  said.  "I  am,"  I  answered;  then  I  added, 
"Miss  Croyden,  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  touch 
me  on  the  ear.  I  can't  stand  it."  I  turned 
from  her  and  looked  out  over  the  sea.  Pres- 
ently I  heard  something  like  a  groan  behind 
me.  The  girl  had  thrown  herself  on  the  sand 
and  was  coiled  up  in  a  hoop.     "Miss  Croyden," 

163 


New  NonseTise  Novels 


I  said,  "for  God's  sake  don't  coil  up  in  a  hoop." 
I  rushed  to  the  beach  and  rubbed  gravel  on  my 
face. 

With  such  activities,  alternated  with  wild 
bursts  of  restraint,  our  life  on  the  island  passed 
as  rapidly  as  in  a  dream.  Had  I  not  taken 
care  to  notch  the  days  upon  a  stick  and  then 
cover  the  stick  with  tar,  I  could  not  have  known 
the  passage  of  the  time.  The  wearing  out  of 
our  clothing  had  threatened  a  serious  difficulty. 
But  by  good  fortune  I  had  seen  a  large  black 
and  white  goat  wandering  among  the  rocks  and 
had  chased  it  to  a  standstill.  From  its  skin, 
leaving  the  fur  still  on,  Edith  had  fashioned 
us  clothes.  Our  boots  we  had  replaced  with 
alligator  hide.  I  had,  by  a  lucky  chance,  found 
an  alligator  upon  the  beach,  and  attaching  a 
string  to  the  fellow's  neck  I  had  led  him  to  our 
camp.  I  had  then  poisoned  the  fellow  with 
tinned  salmon  and  removed  his  hide. 

Our  costume  was  now  brought  into  harmony 

with  our  surroundings.     For  myself,  garbed  in 

goat  skin  with  the  hair  outside,  with  alligator 

sandals  on  my  feet  and  with  whiskers  at  least 

164 


Broken  Barriers 


six  inches  long,  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  resem- 
bled the  beau  ideal  of  a  cave  man.  With  the 
open  air  life  a  new  agility  seemed  to  have  come 
Into  my  limbs.  With  a  single  leap  in  my  alli- 
gator sandals  I  was  enabled  to  spring  into  a 
cocoanut  tree. 

As  for  Edith  Croyden,  I  can  only  say  that 
as  she  stood  beside  me  on  the  beach  in  her 
suit  of  black  goat  skin  (she  had  chosen  the 
black  spots)  there  were  times  when  I  felt  like 
seizing  her  in  the  frenzy  of  my  passion  and 
hurling  her  into  the  sea.  Fur  always  acts  on 
me  just  like  that. 

It  was  at  the  opening  of  the  fifth  week  of 
our  life  upon  the  Island  that  a  new  and  more 
surprising  turn  was  given  to  our  adventure.  It 
arose  out  of  a  certain  curiosity,  harmless 
enough,  on  Edith  Croyden's  part.  "Mr. 
Borus,"  she  said  one  morning,  "I  should  like 
so  much  to  see  the  rest  of  our  island.   Can  we?'* 

"Alas,  Miss  Croyden,"  I  said,  "I  fear  that 
there  Is  but  little  to  see.  Our  Island,  so  far  as 
I  can  judge.  Is  merely  one  of  the  uninhabited 
keys  of  the  West  Indies.      It  is  nothing  but 

165 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


rock  and  sand  and  scrub.  There  is  no  life  upon 
It.  I  fear,"  I  added,  speaking  as  jauntily  as  I 
could,  "that  unless  we  are  taken  off  it  we  are 
destined  to  stay  on  it." 

"Still  I  should  like  to  see  It,"  she  persisted. 

"Come  on,  then,"  I  answered,  "If  you  are 
good  for  a  climb  we  can  take  a  look  over  the 
ridge  of  rocks  where  I  went  up  on  the  first 
day." 

We  made  our  way  across  the  sand  of  the 
beach,  among  the  rocks  and  through  the  close 
matted  scrub  beyond  which  an  eminence  of 
rugged  boulders  shut  out  the  further  view. 

Making  our  way  to  the  top  of  this  we  ob- 
tained a  wide  look  over  the  sea.  The  island 
stretched  away  to  a  considerable  distance  to 
the  eastward,  widening  as  It  went,  the  complete 
view  of  it  being  shut  off  by  similar  and  higher 
ridges  of  rock. 

But  It  was  the  nearer  view,  the  foreground, 
that  at  once  arrested  our  attention.  Edith 
seized  my  arm.     "Look,  oh,  look!"  she  said. 

Down  just  below  us  on  the  right  hand  was 
a  similar  beach  to  the  one  that  we  had  left. 
1 66 


Broken  Barriers 


A  rude  hut  had  been  erected  on  it  and  various 
articles  lay  strewn  about. 

Seated  on  a  rock  with  their  backs  towards  us 
were  a  man  and  a  woman.  The  man  was 
dressed  in  goat  skins,  and  his  whiskers,  so  I 
inferred  from  what  I  could  see  of  them  from 
the  side,  were  at  least  as  exuberant  as  mine. 
The  woman  was  in  white  fur  with  a  fillet  of 
seaweed  round  her  head.  They  were  sitting 
close  together  as  if  in  earnest  colloquy. 

"Cave  people,"  whispered  Edith,  "abori- 
gines of  the  island.'^ 

But  I  answered  nothing.  Something  in  the 
tall  outline  of  the  seated  woman  held  my  eye. 
A  cruel  presentiment  stabbed  me  to  the  heart. 

In  my  agitation  my  foot  overset  a  stone, 
which  rolled  noisily  down  the  rocks.  The  noise 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  two  seated  be- 
low us.  They  turned  and  looked  searchingly 
towards  the  place  where  we  were  concealed. 
Their  faces  were  in  plain  sight.  As  I  looked 
at  that  of  the  woman  I  felt  my  heart  cease 
beating  and  the  colour  leave  my  face. 
167 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


I  looked  into  Edith's  face.  It  was  as  pale 
as  mine. 

"What  does  it  mean?''  she  whispered. 

"Miss  Croyden,"  I  answered,  "Edith — It 
means  this.  I  have  never  found  the  courage 
to  tell  you.  I  am  a  married  man.  The  woman 
seated  there  is  my  wife.    And  I  love  you." 

Edith  put  out  her  arms  with  a  low  cry  and 
clasped  me  about  the  neck.  "Harold,"  she 
murmured,  "my  Harold." 

"Have  I  done  wrong?"  I  whispered. 

"Only  what  I  have  done  too,"  she  answered. 
"I  too  am  married,  Harold,  and  the  man  sit- 
ting there  below,  John  Croyden,  is  my  hus- 
band." 

With  a  wild  cry  such  as  a  cave  man  might 
have  uttered,  I  had  leapt  to  my  feet. 

"Your  husband  I"  I  shouted.  "Then  by  the 
living  God,  he  or  I  shall  never  leave  this  place 
alive." 

He  saw  me  coming  as  I  bounded  down  the 
rocks.  In  an  instant  he  had  sprung  to  his  feet. 
He  gave  no  cry.  He  asked  no  question.  He 
i68 


Broken  Barriers 


stood  erect  as  a  cave  man  would,  waiting  for 
his  enemy. 

And  there  upon  the  sands  beside  the  sea  we 
fought,  barehanded  and  weaponless.  We 
fought  as  cave  men  fight. 

For  a  while  we  circled  round  one  another, 
growling.  We  circled  four  times,  each  watch- 
ing for  an  opportunity.  Then  I  picked  up  a 
great  handful  of  sand  and  threw  it  flap  into 
his  face.  He  grabbed  a  cocoanut  and  hit  me 
with  it  in  the  stomach.  Then  I  seized  a  twisted 
strand  of  wet  seaweed  and  landed  him  with  it 
behind  the  ear.  For  a  moment  he  staggered. 
Before  he  could  recover  I  jumped  forward, 
seized  him  by  the  hair,  slapped  his  face  twice 
and  then  leaped  behind  a  rock.  Looking  from 
the  side  I  could  see  that  Croyden,  though  half 
dazed,  was  feeling  round  for  something  to 
throw.  To  my  horror  I  saw  a  great  stone  lying 
ready  to  his  hand.  Beside  me  was  nothing. 
I  gave  myself  up  for  lost,  when  at  that  very 
moment  I  heard  Edith's  voice  behind  me  say- 
ing, "The  shovel,  quick,  the  shovel!"  The  no- 
ble girl  had  rushed  back  to  our  encampment 
169 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


and  had  fetched  me  the  shovel.  "Swat  him 
with  that,"  she  cried.  I  seized  the  shovel,  and 
with  the  roar  of  a  wounded  bull — or  as  near 
as  I  could  make  it — I  rushed  out  from  the  rock, 
the  shovel  swung  over  my  head. 

But  the  fight  was  all  out  of  Croyden. 

"Don't  strike,"  he  said,  "Fm  all  In.  I 
couldn't  stand  a  crack  with  that  kind  of  thing." 

He  sat  down  upon  the  sand,  limp.  Seen 
thus,  he  somehow  seemed  to  be  quite  a  small 
man,  not  a  cave  man  at  all.  His  goat  skin 
suit  shrunk  in  on  him.  I  could  hear  his  pants 
as  he  sat. 

"I  surrender,"  he  said.  "Take  both  the 
women.    They  are  yours." 

I  stood  over  him  leaning  upon  the  shovel. 
The  two  women  had  closed  in  near  to  us. 

"I  suppose  you  are  her  husband,  are  you?" 
Croyden  went  on. 

I  nodded. 

"I  thought  you  were.     Take  her." 

Meantime  Clara  had  drawn  nearer  to  me. 
She  looked  somehow  very  beautiful  with  her 
170 


Broken  Barriers 


golden  hair  in  the  sunlight,  and  the  white  furs 
draped  about  her. 

"Harold  1"  she  exclaimed.  "Harold,  is  it 
you?  How  strange  and  masterful  you  look. 
I  didn't  know  you  were  so  strong." 

I  turned  sternly  towards  her. 

"When  I  was  alone,"  I  said,  "on  the  Hima- 
layas hunting  the  humpo  or  humped  buf- 
falo  " 

Clara  clasped  her  hands,  looking  into  my 
face. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "tell  me  about  it." 

Meantime  I  could  see  that  Edith  had  gone 
over  to  John  Croyden. 

"John,"  she  said,  "you  shouldn't  sit  on  the 
wet  sand  like  that.  You  will  get  a  chill.  Let 
me  help  you  to  get  up." 

I  looked  at  Clara  and  at  Croyden. 

"How  has  this  happened?"  I  asked.  Tell 
me." 

"We  were  on  the  same  ship,"  Croyden  said. 
"There  came  a  great  storm.  Even  the  captain 
had  never  seen " 

"I  know,"  I  interrupted,  "so  had  ours." 
171 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


"The  ship  struck  a  rock,  and  blew  out  her 
four  funnels '^ 

*'Ours  did  too,"  I  nodded. 

"The  bowsprit  was  broken,  and  the  stew- 
ard's pantry  ds^'^'carried  away.  The  captain 
gave  orfiers  to  leave  the  ship *^ 

"It  ib  "ough,  Croyden,'*  I  said,  "I  see  it  all 
now.  You  were  left  behind  when  the  boats 
cleared,  by  what  accident  you  don't  know " 

"I  don't,"  said  Croyden. 

"As  best  you  could,  you  constructed  a  raft, 
and  with  such  haste  as  you  might  you  placed 
on  it  such  few  things " 

"Exactly,"  he  said,  " — a  chronometer,  a 
sextant " 

"I  know,"  I  continued,  "two  quadrants,  a 
bucket  of  water,  and  a  lightning  rod.  I  pre- 
sume you  picked  up  Clara  floating  in  the  sea.'* 

"I  did,"  Croyden  said,  "she  was  unconscious 
when  I  got  her,  but  by  rubbing " 

"Croyden,"  I  said,  raising  the  shovel  again, 
"cut  that  out." 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said. 

"It's  all  right.  But  you  needn^t  go  on.  I 
172 


Broken  Barriers 


see  all  the  rest  of  your  adventures  plainly 
enough. 

"Well,  I'm  done  with  It  all  anyway,"  said 
Croyden  gloomily.  "You  can  do  what  you  like. 
As  for  me,  I've  got  a  deceive  *  back  there 
at  our  camp,  and  I've  got  it  dried  and  pressed 
and  I'm  going  to  put  It  on." 

He  rose  wearily,  Edith  standing  beside  him. 

"What's  more,  Borus,"  he  said,  "I'll  tell 
you  something.  This  Island  Is  not  uninhabited 
at  all." 

"Not  uninhabited!"  exclaimed  Clara  and 
Edith  together-  I  saw  each  of  them  give  a 
rapid  look  at  her  goat  skin  suit. 

"Nonsense,  Croyden,"  I  said,  "this  Island  Is 
one  of  the  West  Indian  keys.  On  such  a  key 
as  this  the  pirates  used  to  land.  Here  they 
careened  their  ships " 

"Did  what  to  them?"  asked  Croyden. 

"Careened  them  all  over  from  one  end  to  the 
other,"  I  said.  "Here  they  got  water  and 
burled  treasure;  but  beyond  that  the  Island  was, 
and  remained,  only  the  home  of  the  wild  gull 
and  the  sea  mews " 


173 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


"All  right,"  said  Croyden,  *'onIy  it  doesn't 
happen  to  be  that  kind  of  key.  It's  a  West  In- 
dian island  all  right,  but  there's  a  summer  hotel 
on  the  other  end  of  it  not  two  miles  away." 

"A  summer  hotel!"  we  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  a  hotel.  I  suspected  it  all  along.  I 
picked  up  a  tennis  racket  on  the  beach  the  first 
day;  and  after  that  I  walked  over  the  ridge 
and  through  the  jungle  and  I  could  see  the  roof 
of  the  hotel.  Only,"  he  added,  rather  shame- 
facedly, "I  didn't  like  to  tell  her." 

"Oh,  you  coward,"  cried  Clara.  "I  could 
slap  you." 

"Don't  you  dare,"  said  Edith.  "I'm  sure  you 
knew  it  as  well  as  he  did.  And  anyway,  I  was 
certain  of  it  myself.  I  picked  up  a  copy  of  last 
week's  paper  in  a  lunch  basket  on  the  beach, 
and  hid  it  from  Mr.  Borus.  I  didn't  want 
to  hurt  his  feelings." 

At  that  moment  Croyden  pointed  with  a  cry 
towards  the  sea. 

"Look,"  he  said,  "for  Heaven's  sake,  look!" 

He  turned. 

Less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  we  could 
174 


Broken  Barriers 


see  a  large  white  motor  launch  coming  round 
the  corner.  The  deck  was  gay  with  awnings 
and  bright  dresses  and  parasols. 

"Great  Heavens!"  said  Croyden.  *'I  know 
that  launch.     It's  the  Appln-Jones's." 

'The  Appln-Jones's!"  cried  Clara.  "Why, 
we  know  them  too.  Don't  you  remember,  Har- 
old, the  Sunday  we  spent  with  them  on  the 
Hudson?" 

Instinctively  we  had  all  jumped  for  cover, 
behind  the  rocks. 

"Whatever  shall   we   do?"    I   exclaimed. 

"We  must  get  our  things,"  said  Edith  Croy- 
den. "Jack,  If  your  suit  is  ready  run  and  get 
It  and  stop  the  launch.  Mrs.  Borus  and  Mr. 
Borus  and  I  can  get  our  things  straightened 
up  while  you  keep  them  talking.  My  suit  Is 
nearly  ready  anyway;  I  thought  some  one 
might  come.  Mr.  Borus,  would  you  mind  run- 
ning and  fetching  me  my  things,  they're  all  In 
a  parcel  together,  and  perhaps  If  you  have  a 
looking-glass  and  some  pins,  Mrs.  Borus,  I 
could  come  over  and  dress  with  you." 


175 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


That  same  evening  we  found  ourselves  all 
comfortably  gathered  on  the  piazza  of  the  Ho- 
tel Christopher  Columbus.  Appln-Jones  in- 
sisted on  making  himself  our  host,  and  the 
story  of  our  adventures  was  related  again  and 
again  to  an  admiring  audience,  with  the  accom- 
paniment of  cigars  and  Iced  champagne.  Only 
one  detail  was  suppressed,  by  common  Instinct. 
Both  Clara  and  I  felt  that  It  would  only  raise 
needless  comment  to  explain  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Croyden  had  occupied  separate  encampments. 

Nor  is  it  necessary  to  relate  our  safe  and 
easy  return  to  New  York. 

Both  Clara  and  I  found  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Croyden  delightful  travelling  companions, 
though  perhaps  we  were  not  sorry  when  the 
moment  came  to  say  good-bye. 

"The  word  'good-bye,'  "  I  remarked  to 
Clara,  as  we  drove  away,  "Is  always  a  painful 
one.  Oddly  enough  when  I  was  hunting  the 
humpo,  or  humped  buffalo,  of  the  Hima- 
layas  " 

"Do  tell  me  about  it,  darling,"  whispered 
Clara,  as  she  nestled  beside  me  in  the  cab. 
176 


FI 

The  Kidnapped  Plumber 

A  Tale  of  the  New  Time 

{Being  one  chapter — and  quite  enough — 

from  the  Reminiscences  of  an  Operating 

Plumber) 


VI, — The  Kidnapped  Plumber:  A  Tale  of 
the  New  Time 

PERSONALLY,"  said  Thornton, 
speaking  for  the  first  time,  "I  never 
care  to  take  a  case  that  involves 
cellar  work.'* 
We  were  sitting — a  little  group  of  us — 
round  about  the  fire  In  a  comfortable  corner  of 
the  Steam  and  Air  Club.  Our  talk  had  turned, 
as  always  happens  with  a  group  of  professional 
men,  into  more  or  less  technical  channels.  I 
will  not  say  that  we  were  talking  shop;  the 
word  has  an  offensive  sound  and  might  be  mis- 
understood. But  we  were  talking  as  only  a 
group  of  practising  plumbers — Including  some 
of  the  biggest  men  in  the  profession — would 
talk.  With  the  exception  of  Everett,  who  had 
a  national  reputation  as  a  .Consulting  Barber, 
and  Thomas,  who  was  a  vacuum  cleaner  ex- 
179 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


pert,  I  think  we  all  belonged  to  the  same  pro- 
fession. We  had  been  holding  a  convention, 
and  Fortescue,  who  had  one  of  the  biggest  fur- 
nace practices  in  the  country,  had  read  us  a 
paper  that  afternoon — a  most  revolutionary- 
thing — on  External  Diagnosis  of  Defective 
Feed  Pipes,  and  naturally  the  thing  had  bred 
discussion.  Fortescue,  who  Is  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  men  in  the  profession,  had  stoutly 
maintained  his  thesis  that  the  only  method  of 
diagnosis  for  trouble  In  a  furnace  Is  to  sit  down 
In  front  of  It  and  look  at  It  for  three  days: 
others  held  out  for  unscrewing  it  and  carrying 
It  home  for  consideration;  others  of  us,  again, 
claimed  that  by  tapping  the  affected  spot  with 
a  wrench  the  pipe  might  be  fractured  In  such 
a  way  as  to  prove  that  It  was  breakable.  It 
was  at  this  point  that  Thornton  Interrupted 
with  his  remark  about  never  being  willing  to 
accept  a  cellar  case. 

Naturally  all  the  men  turned  to  look  at  the 
speaker.     Henry   Thornton,    at    the    time    of 
which  I  relate,  was  at  the  height  of  his  repu- 
tation.    Beginning,  quite  literally,  at  the  bot- 
i8o 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


torn  of  the  ladder,  he  had  In  twenty  years  of 
practice  as  an  operating  plumber  raised  himself 
to  the  top  of  his  profession.  There  was  much 
in  his  appearance  to  suggest  the  underlying 
reasons  of  his  success.  His  face,  as  Is  usual 
with  men  of  our  calling,  had  something  of  the 
dreamer  in  it,  but  the  bold  set  of  the  jaw  indi- 
cated determination  of  an  uncommon  kind. 
Three  times  President  of  the  Plumbers*  Asso- 
ciation, Henry  Thornton  had  enjoyed  the 
highest  honours  of  his  chosen  profession.  His 
book  on  Nut  Coal  was  recognised  as  the  last 
word  on  the  subject,  and  had  been  crowned 
by  the  French  Academy  of  Nuts. 

I  suppose  that  one  of  the  principal  reasons 
for  his  success  was  his  singular  coolness  and 
resource.  I  have  seen  Thornton  enter  a 
kitchen,  with  that  quiet  reassuring  step  of  his, 
and  lay  out  his  Instruments  on  the  table,  while 
a  kitchen  tap  with  a  broken  washer  was  spriz- 
zllng  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  as  calmly  and 
quietly  as  If  he  were  in  his  lecture  room  of  the 
Plumbers'  College. 

"You  never  go  into  a  cellar?"  asked  Fortes- 
i8i 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


cue.  "But  hang  it,  man,  I  don't  see  how  one 
can  avoid  it!" 

"Well,  I  do  avoid  it,"  answered  Thornton, 
"at  least  as  far  as  I  possibly  can.  I  send  down 
my  solderist,  of  course,  but  personally,  unless 
it  is  absolutely  necessary,  I  never  go  down." 

"That's  all  very  well,  my  dear  fellow," 
Fortescue  cut  in,  "but  you  know  as  well  as  I  do 
that  you  get  case  after  case  where  the  cellar 
diagnosis  is  simply  vital.  I  had  a  case  last 
week,  a  most  interesting  thing" — he  turned  to 
the  group  of  us  as  he  spoke — "a  double  lesion 
of  a  gas  pipe  under  a  cement  floor — half  a 
dozen  of  my  colleagues  had  been  absolutely 
baflied.  They  had  made  an  entirely  false 
diagnosis,  operated  on  the  dining  room  floor, 
which  they  removed  and  carried  home,  and 
when  I  was  called  in  they  had  just  obtained 
permission  from  the  Stone  Masons'  Protective 
Association  to  knock  down  one  side  of  the 
house." 

"Excuse  me  interrupting  just  a  minute,"  in- 
terjected a  member  of  the  group  who  hailed 
from  a  distant  city,  "have  you  much  trouble 
182 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


about  that?  I  mean  about  knocking  the  sides 
out  of  houses?" 

"No  trouble  now,"  said  Fortescue.  "We  did 
have.  But  the  pubhc  Is  getting  educated  up  to 
it.  Our  law  now  allows  us  to  knock  the  side 
out  of  a  house  when  we  feel  that  we  would 
really  like  to  see  what  is  In  it.  We  are  not 
allowed,  of  course,  to  build  it  up  again." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  the  other  speaker. 
"But  I  suppose  you  can  throw  the  bricks  out 
on  the  lawn." 

"Yes,"  said  Fortescue,  "and  sit  on  them  to 
eat  lunch.  We  had  a  big  fight  In  the  legisla- 
ture over  that,  but  we  got  it  through." 

"Thank  you,  but  I  feel  I  am  Interrupting." 

"Well,  I  was  only  saying  that  as  soon  as  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  that  the  trouble  was  In 
the  cellar,  the  whole  case  was  simple.  I  took 
my  colleagues  down  at  once  and  we  sat  on  the 
floor  of  the  cellar  and  held  a  consultation  till 
the  overpowering  smell  of  gas  convinced  me 
that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  an  operation 
on  the  floor.  The  whole  thing  was  most  suc- 
cessful.    I  was  very  glad,  as  it  happened  that 

183 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


the  proprietor  of  the  house  was  a  very  decent 
fellow,  employed,  I  think,  as  a  manager  of  a 
bank,  or  something  of  the  sort.  He  was  most 
grateful.  It  was  he  who  gave  me  the  engraved 
monkey  wrench  that  some  of  you  were  admir- 
ing before  dinner.  After  we  had  finished  the 
whole  operation — I  forgot  to  say  that  we  had 
thrown  the  coal  out  on  the  lawn  to  avoid  any 
complication — he  quite  broke  down.  He 
offered  us  to  take  his  whole  house  and  keep  it.'* 

"You  don't  do  that,  do  you?"  asked  the 
outsider. 

"Oh,  no,  never,''  said  Fortescue.  "We've 
made  a  very  strict  professional  rule  against  it. 
We  found  that  some  of  the  younger  men  were 
apt  to  take  a  house  when  they  were  given  it, 
and  we  had  to  frown  down  on  it.  But,  gentle- 
men, I  feel  that  when  Mr.  Thornton  says  that 
he  never  goes  down  into  a  cellar  there  must 
be  a  story  behind  it.  I  think  we  should  invite 
him  to  relate  it  to  us." 

A  murmur  of  assent  greeted  the  speaker's 
suggestion.  For  myself  I  was  particularly 
pleased,  inasmuch  as  I  have  long  felt  that 
184 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


Thornton  as  a  raconteur  was  almost  as  inter- 
esting as  in  the  role  of  an  operating  plumber. 
I  have  often  told  him  that  if  he  had  not  hap- 
pened to  meet  success  in  his  chosen  profession, 
he  could  have  earned  a  living  as  a  day  writer: 
a  suggestion  which  he  has  always  taken  in  good 
part  and  without  offense. 

Those  of  my  readers  who  have  looked 
through  the  little  volume  of  Reminiscences 
which  I  have  put  together,  will  recall  the  nar- 
rative of  The  Missing  Nut  and  the  little  tale 
entitled  The  Blue  Blow  Torch  as  instances  in 
point. 

*'Not  much  of  a  story,  perhaps,"  said  Thorn- 
ton, "but  such  as  it  Is  you  are  welcome  to  it. 
So  if  you  will  just  fill  up  your  glasses  with  rasp- 
berry vinegar,  you  may  have  the  tale  for  what 
it  Is  worth." 

We  gladly  complied  with  the  suggestion  and 
Thornton  continued. 

"It  happened  a  good  many  years  ago  at  a 
time  when  I  was  only  a  young  fellow  fresh 
from  college,  very  proud  of  my  Plumb.  B.,  and 
inclined  to  think  that  I  knew  it  all.    I  had  done 

185 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


a  little  monograph  on  Choked  Feed  in  the  Blow 
Torch,  which  had  attracted  attention  and  I 
suppose  that  altogether  I  was  about  as  con- 
ceited a  young  puppy  as  one  would  find  in  the 
profession.  I  should  mention  that  at  this  time 
I  was  not  married,  but  had  set  up  a  modest 
apartment  of  my  own  with  a  consulting  room 
and  a  single  man  servant.  Naturally  I  could 
not  afford  the  services  of  a  solderist  or  a  gassist 
and  did  everything  for  myself,  though  Simi- 
mons,  my  man,  could  at  a  pinch  be  utilized  to 
tear  down  plaster  and  break  furniture." 

Thornton  paused  to  take  a  sip  of  raspberry 
vinegar  and  went  on. 

''Well,  then.  I  had  come  home  to  dinner 
particularly  tired  after  a  long  day.  I  had  sat 
in  an  attic  the  greater  part  of  the  afternoon  (a 
case  of  top  story  valvular  trouble)  and  had 
had  to  sit  in  a  cramped  position  which  prac- 
tically forbade  sleep.  I  was  feeling,  therefore, 
none  too  well  pleased  when  a  little  while  after 
dinner  the  bell  rang  and  Simmons  brought  word 
to  the  library  that  there  was  a  client  in  the 
consulting  room.  I  reminded  the  fellow  that 
i86 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


I  could  not  possibly  consider  a  case  at  such  an 
advanced  hour  unless  I  were  paid  emergency 
overtime  wages  with  time  and  a  half  during 
the  day  of  recovery." 

"One  moment,"  Interrupted  the  outside 
member,  *'you  don't  mention  compensation  for 
mental  shock.     Do  you  not  draw  that  here?" 

*'We  do  wow/'  explained  Thornton,  "but  the 
time  of  which  I  speak  Is  some  years  ago  and  we 
still  got  nothing  for  mental  shock,  nor  disturb- 
ance of  equilibrium.  Nowadays,  of  course,  one 
would  Insist  on  a  substantial  retainer  in  ad- 
vance. 

"Well,  to  continue.  Simmons,  to  my  sur- 
prise, told  me  that  he  had  already  informed 
the  client  of  this  fact,  and  that  the  answer  had 
only  been  a  plea  that  the  case  was  too  urgent 
to  admit  of  delay.  He  also  supplied  the 
further  information  that  the  client  was  a  young 
lady.  I  am  afraid,"  added  Thornton,  looking 
round  his  audience  with  a  sympathetic  smile, 
"that  Simmons  (I  had  got  him  from  Harvard 
and  he  had  not  yet  quite  learned  his  place)  even 
187 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


said  something  about  her  being  strikingly  hand- 
some." 

A  general  laugh  greeted  Thornton's  an- 
nouncement. 

*'After  all,"  said  Fortescue,  "I  never  could 
see  why  an  Ice  Man  should  be  supposed  to  have 
a  monopoly  on  gallantry." 

''Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Thornton.  'Tor 
my  part — I  say  it  without  affectation — the 
moment  I  am  called  in  professionally,  women, 
as  women,  cease  to  exist  for  me.  I  can  stand 
beside  them  in  the  kitchen  and  explain  to  them 
the  feed  tap  of  a  kitchen  range  without  feeling 
them  to  be  anything  other  than  simply  clients. 
And  for  the  most  part,  I  think,  they  reciprocate 
that  attention.  There  are  women,  of  course, 
who  will  call  a  man  in  with  motives^ — but  that's 
another  story.  I  must  get  back  to  what  I  was 
saying. 

"On  entering  the  consulting  room  I  saw  at 
once  that  Simmons  had  exaggerated  nothing 
in  describing  my  young  client  as  beautiful.  I 
have  seldom,  even  among  our  own  class,  seen 
a  more  strikingly  handsome  girl.  She  was 
i88 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


dressed  in  a  very  plain  and  simple  fashion 
which  showed  me  at  once  that  she  belonged 
merely  to  the  capitalist  class.  I  am,  as  I  think 
you  know,  something  of  an  observer,  and  my 
eye  at  once  noted  the  absence  of  heavy  gold 
earrings  and  wrist  bangles.  The  blue  feathers 
at  the  side  of  her  hat  were  none  of  them  more 
than  six  inches  long  and  the  buttons  on  her 
jacket  were  so  inconspicuous  that  one  would 
hardly  notice  them.  In  short,  while  her  dress 
was  no  doubt  good  and  serviceable,  there  was 
an  absence  of  chic,  a  lack  of  noise  about  it, 
that  told  at  once  the  tale  of  narrow  circum- 
stances. 

''She  was  evidently  in  great  distress. 

*'  'Oh,  Mr.  Thornton,'  she  exclaimed,  ad- 
vancing towards  me,  'do  come  to  our  house  at 
once.     I  simply  don't  know  what  to  do.' 

"She  spoke  with  great  emotion,  and  seemed 
almost  on  the  point  of  breaking, into  tears. 

"  'Pray,  calm  yourself,  my  dear  young 
lady,'  I  said,  'and  try  to  tell  me  what  is  the 
trouble.' 

189 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


*'  *0h,  don't  lose  any  time,'  she  said,  'do,  do 
come  at  once.' 

"  'We  will  lose  no  time,'  I  said  reassuringly, 
as  I  looked  at  my  watch.  'It  is  now  seven- 
thirty.  We  will  reckon  the  time  from  now, 
with  overtime  at  time  and  a  half.  But  if  I 
am  to  do  anything  for  you  I  must  have  some 
idea  of  what  has  happened.' 

"  'The  cellar  boiler,'  she  moaned,  clasping 
her  hands  together,  'the  cellar  boiler  won't 
work!' 

"  'Ah!'  I  said  soothingly.  'The  cellar  boiler 
won't  work.  Now  tell  me,  is  the  feed  choked, 
miss?' 

"  'I  don't  know,'  she  exclaimed. 

"  'Have  you  tried  letting  off  the  exhaust?' 

"She  shook  her  head  with  a  doleful  look. 

"  'I  don't  know  what  it  is,'  she  said. 

"But  already  I  was  hastily  gathering  to- 
gether a  few  instruments,  questioning  her 
rapidly  as  I  did  so. 

"  'How's   your  pressure    gauge?'    I    asked. 
'How's    your    water?     Do    you    draw    from 
190 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


the  mains  or  are  you  on  the  high  level  reser- 
voir?' 

"It  had  occurred  to  me  at  once  that  it  might 
be  merely  a  case  of  stoppage  of  her  main  feed, 
complicated,  perhaps,  with  a  valvular  trouble 
in  her  exhaust.  On  the  other  hand  it  was  clear 
enough  that  if  her  feed  was  full  and  her  gauges 
working,  her  trouble  was  more  likely  a  leak 
somewhere  in  her  piping. 

"But  all  attempts  to  draw  from  the  girl  any 
clear  idea  of  the  symptoms  were  unavailing. 
All  she  could  tell  me  was  that  the  cellar  boiler 
wouldn't  work.  Beyond  that  her  answers  were 
mere  confusion.  I  gathered  enough,  however, 
to  feel  sure  that  her  main  feed  was  still  work- 
ing and  that  her  top  story  check  valve  was 
probably  in  order.  With  that  I  had  to  be  con- 
tent. 

"As  a  young  practitioner,  I  had  as  yet  no 
motor  car.  Simmons,  however,  summoned  me 
a  taxi,  into  which  I  hurriedly  placed  the  girl 
and  my  basket  of  instruments,  and  was  soon 
speeding  in  the  direction  she  indicated.  It  was 
a  dark,  lowering  night  with  flecks  of  rain 
191 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


against  the  windows  of  the  cab,  and  there  was 
something  in  the  lateness  of  the  hour  (it  was 
now  after  half-past  eight)  and  the  nature  of 
my  mission  which  gave  me  a  stimulating  sense 
of  adventure.  The  girl  directed  me,  as  I  felt 
sure  she  would,  towards  the  capitalist  quarter 
of  the  town.  We  had  soon  sped  away  from 
the  brightly  Hghted  streets  and  tall  apartment 
buildings  among  which  my  usual  practice  lay, 
and  entered  the  gloomy  and  dilapidated  section 
of  the  city  where  the  unhappy  capitalist  class 
reside.  I  need  not  remind  those  of  you  who 
know  it  that  it  is  scarcely  a  cheerful  place  to 
find  oneself  in  after  nightfall.  The  thick 
growth  of  trees,  the  silent  gloom  of  the  Ill- 
lighted  houses,  and  the  rank  undergrowth  of 
shrubs  give  it  an  air  of  desolation  not  to  say 
danger.  It  is  certainly  not  the  place  that  a 
professional  man  would  choose  to  be  abroad  in 
after  dark.  The  inhabitants  living,  so  it  is  said, 
on  their  scanty  dividends  and  on  such  parts  of 
their  income  as  our  taxation  Is  still  unable  to 
reach,  are  not  people  that  one  would  care  to 
fall  in  with  after  nightfall. 
192 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


"Since  the  time  of  which  I  speak  we  have 
done  much  to  introduce  a  better  state  of  things. 
The  opening  of  day  schools  of  carpentry^ 
plumbing  and  calcimining  for  the  children  of 
the  capitalists  is  already  producing  results. 
Strange  though  it  may  seem,  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  of  our  boiler  fitters  of  today  was 
brought  up  haphazard  in  this  very  quarter  of 
the  town  and  educated  only  by  a  French  gov- 
erness and  a  university  tutor.  But  at  the  time 
practically  nothing  had  been  done.  The  place 
was  infested  with  consumers  and  there  were 
still,  so  it  was  said,  servants  living  in  some  of 
the  older  houses.  A  butler  had  been  caught 
one  night  in  a  thick  shrubbery  beside  one  of 
the  gloomy  streets. 

"We  alighted  at  one  of  the  most  sombre  of 
the  houses  and  our  taxi  driver,  with  evident 
relief,  made  off  in  the  darkness. 

"The  girl  admitted  us  into  a  dark  hall  where 
she  turned  on  an  electric  light.  'We  have 
light,'  she  said,  with  that  peculiar  touch  of 
pride  that  one  sees  so  often  in  her  class;  'we 
have  four  bulbs.' 

193 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


"Then  she  called  down  a  flight  of  stairs  that 
apparently  led  to  the  cellar. 

"  ^Father,  the  plumber  has  come.  Do  come 
up  now,  dear,  and  rest.' 

"A  step  sounded  on  the  stairs  and  there 
appeared  beside  us  one  of  the  most  forbidding 
looking  men  that  I  have  ever  beheld.  I  don't 
know  whether  any  of  you  have  ever  seen  an 
Anglican  Bishop.  Probably  not.  Outside  of 
the  bush,  they  are  now  never  seen.  But  at  the 
time  of  which  I  speak  there  were  a  few  still 
here  and  there  in  the  purlieus  of  the  city.  The 
man  before  us  was  tall  and  ferocious  and  his 
native  ferocity  was  further  enhanced  by  the 
heavy  black  beard  which  he  wore  in  open  de- 
fiance of  the  compulsory  shaving  laws.  His 
black  shovel-shaped  hat  and  his  black  clothes 
lent  him  a  singularly  sinister  appearance,  while 
his  legs  were  bound  in  tight  gaiters,  as  if  ready 
for  an  instant  spring.  He  carried  in  his  hand 
an  enormous  monkey  wrench,  on  which  his 
fingers  were  clasped  in  a  restless  grip. 

"  'Can  you  ^x  the  accursed  thing?'  he  asked. 

"I  was  not  accustomed  to  being  spoken  to 
194 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


In  this  way,  but  I  was  willing  for  the  girl's  sake 
to  strain  professional  courtesy  to  the  limit. 

"  'I  don't  know,'  I  answered,  'but  If  you  will 
have  the  goodness  first  to  fetch  me  a  little  light 
supper,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  what  I  can  do 
afterwards.* 

"My  firm  manner  had  its  effect.  With 
obvious  reluctance,  the  fellow  served  me  some 
biscuits  and  some  not  bad  champagne  in  the 
dining  room. 

"The  girl  had  meantime  disappeared  up- 
stairs. 

"  'If  you're  ready  now,*  said  the  Bishop, 
*come  on  down.* 

"We  went  down  to  the  cellar.  It  was  a  huge 
gloomy  place,  with  a  cement  floor,  lighted  by 
a  dim  electric  bulb.  I  could  see  In  the  corner 
the  outline  of  a  large  furnace  (In  those  days 
the  poorer  classes  had  still  no  central  heat) 
and  near  It  a  tall  boiler.  In  front  of  this  a  man 
was  kneeling,  evidently  trying  to  unscrew  a  nut, 
but  twisting  It  the  wrong  way.  He  was  an 
elderly  man  with  grey  moustaches  and  was 
195 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


dressed,  in  open  defiance  of  the  law,  In  a  mili- 
tary costume  or  uniform. 

"He  turned  round  towards  us  and  rose  from 
his  knees. 

*'  ^I'm  dashed  if  I  can  make  the  rotten  thing 
go  round,'  he  said. 

"  'It's  all  right.  General,'  said  the  Bishop,  1 
have  brought  a  plumber.' 

"For  the  next  few  minutes  my  professional 
interest  absorbed  all  my  faculties.  I  laid  out 
my  instruments  upon  a  board,  tapped  the 
boiler  with  a  small  hammer,  tested  the  feed 
tube,  and  in  a  few  moments  had  made  what  I 
was  convinced  was  a  correct  diagnosis  of  the 
trouble. 

"But  here  I  encountered  the  greatest  pro- 
fessional dilemma  in  which  I  have  ever  been 
placed.  There  was  nothing  wrong  with  the 
boiler  at  all.  It  connected,  as  I  ascertained  at 
once  by  a  thermo-dynamic  valvular  test,  with 
the  furnace  (in  fact,  I  could  see  it  did),  and 
the  furnace  quite  evidently  had  been  allowed 
to  go  out. 

"What  was  I  to  do?  If  I  told  them  this,  I 
196 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


broke  every  professional  rule  of  our  union.  If 
the  thing  became  known  I  should  probably  be 
disbarred  and  lose  my  overalls  for  it.  It  was 
my  plain  professional  duty  to  take  a  large 
hammer  and  knock  holes  in  the  boiler  with  it, 
smash  up  the  furnace  pipes,  start  a  leak  of  gas 
and  then  call  in  three  or  more  of  my  colleagues. 

"But  somehow  I  couldn't  find  it  in  my  heart 
to  do  it.  The  thought  of  the  girPs  appealing 
face  arose  before  me. 

"  'How  long  has  this  trouble  been  going  on?' 
I  asked  sternly. 

*'  'Quite  a  time,'  answered  the  Bishop.  *It 
began,  did  it  not.  General,  the  same  day  that 
the  confounded  furnace  went  out?  The  Gen- 
eral here  and  Admiral  Hay  and  I  have  been 
working  at  it  for  three  days.' 

"  'Well,  gentlemen,'  I  said,  'I  don't  want  to 
read  you  a  lesson  on  your  own  ineptitude  and 
I  don't  suppose  you  would  understand  it  if  I 
did.  But  don't  you  see  that  the  whole  trouble 
is  because  you  let  the  furnace  out.  The  boiler 
itself  is  all  right,  but  you  see,  gents,  it  feeds  off 
the  furnace.' 

197 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


"  'Ah !'  said  the  Bishop  in  a  deep  melodious 
tone,  'it  feeds  off  the  furnace.  Now  that  is 
most  interesting.  Let  me  repeat  that;  I  must 
try  to  remember  it;  it  feeds  off  the  furnace. 
Just  so.* 

"The  upshot  was  that  in  twenty  minutes  we 
had  the  whole  thing  put  to  rights.  I  set  the 
General  breaking  up  boxes  and  had  the  Bishop 
rake  out  the  clinkers,  and  very  soon  we  had 
the  furnace  going  and  the  boiler  in  operation. 

"  '5ut  now  tell  me,'  said  the  Bishop,  'sup- 
pose one  wanted  to  let  the  furnace  out — sup- 
pose, I  mean  to  say,  that  it  was  summer  time 
and  suppose  one  rather  felt  that  one  didn't 
care  about  a  furnace  and  yet  one  wanted  one's 
boiler  going  for  one's  hot  water,  and  that  sort 
of  thing,  what  would  one  do?' 

"  'In  that  case,'  I  said,  'you  couldn't  run 
your  heating  off  your  furnace:  you'd  have  to 
connect  in  your  tubing  with  a  gas  generator.' 

"  'Ah,  there  you  get  me  rather  beyond  my 
depth,'  said  the  Bishop. 

"The  General  shook  his  head.  ^Bishop,'  he 
198 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


said,  *just  step  upstairs  a  minute;  I  have  an 
idea/ 

"They  went  up  together,  leaving  me  below. 
To  my  surprise  and  consternation,  as  they 
reached  the  top  of  the  cellar  stairs,  I  saw  the 
General  swing  the  door  shut  and  heard  a  key 
turn  in  the  lock.  I  rushed  to  the  top  of  the 
stairs  and  tried  in  vain  to  open  the  door.  I 
was  trapped.  In  a  moment  I  realized  my  folly 
in  trusting  myself  in  the  hands  of  these  people. 

"I  could  hear  their  voices  in  the  hall,  appar- 
ently in  eager  discussion. 

"  *But  the  fellow  is  priceless,'  the  General 
was  saying.  We  could  take  him  round  to  all 
the  different  houses  and  make  him  fix  them  all. 
Hang  it.  Bishop,  I  haven't  had  a  decent  tap 
running  for  two  years,  and  Admiral  Hay's 
pantry  has  been  flooded  since  last  March.' 

"  'But  one  couldn't  compel  him?' 

"  'Certainly,  why  not?  I'd  compel  him  bally 
quick  with  this.' 

"I  couldn't  see  what  the  General  referred 
to,  but  had  no   doubt  that   it  was   the  huge 
wrench  that  he  still  carried  in  his  hand. 
199 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


*'  'We  could  gag  the  fellow,'  he  went  on, 
*take  him  from  house  to  house  and  make  him 
put  everything  right.' 

"  'Ah,  but  afterwards?'  said  the  Bishop. 

"  'Afterwards,'  answered  the  General,  'why 
kill  him!  Knock  him  on  the  head  and  bury 
him  under  the  cement  in  the  cellar.  Hay  and  I 
could  easily  bury  him,  or  for  that  matter  I 
imagine  one  could  easily  use  the  furnace  itself 
to  dispose  of  him.' 

"I  must  confess  that  my  blood  ran  cold  as 
I  listened. 

"  'But  do  you  think  it  right?'  objected  the 
Bishop.  'You  will  say,  of  course,  that  it  is  only 
killing  a  plumber:  but  yet  one  asks  oneself 
whether  it  wouldn't  be  just  a  leetle  bit  unjusti- 
fiable.' 

"  'Nonsense,'  said  the  General.  'You  re- 
member that  last  year  when  Hay  strangled  the 
income  tax  collector,  you  yourself  were  very 
keen  on  it' 

"  'Ah,  that  was  different,'  said  the  Bishop, 
'one  felt  there  that  there  was  an  end  to  serve, 
but  here ' 

200 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


"  'Nonsense,'  repeated  the  General,  'come 
along  and  get  Hay.  He'll  make  short  work 
of  him.' 

"I  heard  their  retreating  footsteps  and  then 
all  was  still. 

"The  horror  which  filled  my  mind  as  I  sat 
an  the  half  darkness  waiting  for  their  return  I 
cannot  describe.  My  fate  appeared  sealed  and 
I  gave  myself  up  for  lost,  when  presently  I 
heard  a  light  step  in  the  hall  and  the  key 
turned  in  the  lock. 

"The  girl  stood  in  front  of  me.  She  was 
trembling  with  emotion. 

"  'Quick,  quick,  Mr.  Thornton,'  she  said.  'I 
heard  all  that  they  said.  Oh,  I  think  it's  dread- 
ful of  them,  simply  dreadful.  Mr.  Thornton, 
I'm  really  ashamed  that  father  should  act  that 
way.' 

"I  came  out  into  the  hall  still  half  dazed. 

"  'They've  gone  over  to  Admiral  Hay's 
house,  there  among  the  trees.  That's  their  lan- 
tern. Please,  please,  don't  lose  a  minute.  Do 
you  mind  not  having  a  cab?     I  think  really 

201 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


you'd  prefer  not  to  wait.  And  look,  won't  you 
please  take  this' — she  handed  me  a  little  packet 
as  she  spoke — *this  is  a  piece  of  pie:  you  always 
get  that,  don't  you,  and  there's  a  bit  of  cheese 
with  it,  but  please  run.' 

''In  another  moment  I  had  bounded  from 
the  door  into  the  darkness.  A  wild  rush 
through  the  darkened  streets,  and  in  twenty 
minutes  I  was  safe  back  again  in  my  own  con- 
sulting room." 

Thornton  paused  in  his  narrative,  and  at 
that  moment  one  of  the  stewards  of  the  club 
came  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

He  rosei 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  with  a  grave  face. 
"I'm  called  away;  a  very  old  client  of  mine. 
Valvular  trouble  of  the  worst  kind.  I  doubt  if 
I  can  do  anything,  but  I  must  at  least  go. 
Please  don't  let  me  break  up  your  evening,  how- 
ever." 

With  a  courtly  bow  he  left  us. 

"And  do  you  know  the  sequel  to  Thornton's 
story?"  asked  Fortescue  with  a  smile. 

202 


The  Kidnapped  Plumber 


We  looked  expectantly  at  him. 

"Why,  he  married  the  girl,"  explained 
Fortescue.  *'You  see  he  had  to  go  back  to  her 
house  for  his  wrench.     One  always  does." 

"Of  course,"  we  exclaimed. 

"In  fact  he  went  three  times;  and  the  last 
time  he  asked  the  girl  to  marry  him  and  she 
said  'yes.'  He  took  her  out  of  her  surround- 
ings, had  her  educated  at  a  cooking  school,  and 
had  her  given  lessons  on  the  parlour  organ. 
She's  Mrs.  Thornton  now." 

"And  the  Bishop?"  asked  someone. 

"Oh,  Thornton  looked  after  him.  He  got 
him  a  position  heating  furnaces  in  the  syna- 
gogues. He  worked  at  It  till  he  died  a  few 
years  ago.  They  say  that  once  he  got  the  trick 
of  it  he  took  the  greatest  delight  In  it.  Well, 
I  must  go,  too.    Good  night." 


203 


VII 

The  Blue  and  The  Grey 

A  Pre-War  War  Story 
{The  title  is  selected  for  its  originality, 
A  set  of  seventy-five  maps  will  be  sup- 
plied to  any  reader  free  for  seventy-five 
cents.  This  offer  is  only  open  till  it  is 
closed) 


VII,— The  Blue  mid  The  Grey: 
A  Pre-War  War  Story 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  scene  was  a  striking  one.  It  was 
night.  Never  had  the  Mississippi 
presented  a  more  remarkable  ap- 
pearance. Broad  bayous,  swollen  be- 
yond our  powers  of  description,  swirled  to  and 
fro  in  the  darkness  under  trees  garlanded  with 
Spanish  moss.  All  moss  other  than  Spanish 
had  been  swept  away  by  the  angry  flood  of  the 
river. 

Eggleston   Lee   Carey    Randolph,    a  young 

Virginian,  captain  of  the  th  company  of 

the  th  regiment  of  's  brigade — even 

this  is  more  than  we  ought  to  say  (and  is  hard 
to  pronounce) — attached  to  the  Army  of  the 
Tennessee,  struggled  in  vain  with  the  swollen 
waters.  At  times  he  sank.  At  other  times  he 
went  up. 

207 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


In  the  Intervals  he  wondered  whether  it 
would  ever  be  possible  for  him  to  rejoin  the 
particular  platoon  of  the  particular  regiment 
to  which  he  belonged,  and  of  which's  where- 
abouts (not  having  the  volume  of  the  army 
record  at  hand)  he  was  In  ignorance.  In  the 
intervals,  also,  he  reflected  on  his  past  life  to  a 
sufficient  extent  to  give  the  reader  a  more  or 
less  workable  idea  as  to  who  and  to  what  he 
was.  His  father,  the  old  gray-haired  Vir- 
ginian aristocrat,  he  could  see  him  still.  "Take 
this  sword,  Eggleston,"  he  had  said,  "use  it  for 
the  State;  never  for  anything  else:  don't  cut 
string  with  it  or  open  tin  cans.  Never  sheathe 
It  till  the  soil  of  Virginia  is  free.  Keep  it 
bright,  my  boy:  oil  it  every  now  and  then,  and 
you'll  find  it  an  A-i  sword." 

Did  Eggleston  think,  too,  in  his  dire  peril  of 
another — younger  than  his  father  and  fairer? 
Necessarily,  he  did.  "Go,  Eggleston!"  she 
had  exclaimed,  as  they  said  farewell  under  the 
portico  of  his  father's  house  where  she  was 
visiting,  "it  is  your  duty.  But  mine  lies  else- 
where. I  cannot  forget  that  I  am  a  Northern 
208 


The  Blue  and  The  Grey 


girl.  I  must  return  at  once  to  my  people  in 
Pennsylvania.  O  Egg,  when  will  this  cruel  war 
end?" 

So  had  the  lovers  parted. 

Meanwhile — while  Eggleston  is  going  up 
and  down  for  the  third  time,  which  is  of  course 
the  last — suppose  we  leave  him,  and  turn  to 
consider  the  general  position  of  the  Confed- 
eracy.   All  right :  suppose  we  do. 

CHAPTER  II 

At  this  date  the  Confederate  Army  of  the 
Tennessee  was  extended  in  a  line  with  its  right 
resting  on  the  Tennessee  and  its  left  resting 
on  the  Mississippi.  Its  rear  rested  on  the 
rugged  stone  hills  of  the  Chickasaba  range 
while  its  front  rested  on  the  marshes  and 
bayous  of  the  Yazoo.  Having  thus — as  far  as 
we  understand  military  matters — both  its 
flanks  covered  and  its  rear  protected,  its  posi- 
tion was  one  which  we  ourselves  consider  very 
comfortable. 

It  was  thus  in  an  admirable  situation  for 
209 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


holding  a  review  or  for  discussing  the  Consti- 
tution of  the  United  States  in  reference  to  the 
right  of  secession. 

The  following  generals  rode  up  and  down  in 
front  of  the  army,  namely,  Mr.  A.  P.  Hill,  Mr. 
Longstreet,  and  Mr.  Joseph  Johnston.  All 
these  three  celebrated  men  are  thus  presented 
to  our  readers  at  one  and  the  same  time  with- 
out extra  charge. 

But  who  is  this  tall,  commanding  figure  who 
rides  beside  them,  his  head  bent  as  if  listening 
to  what  they  are  saying  (he  really  isn't)  while 
his  eye  alternately  flashes  with  animation  or 
softens  to  its  natural  melancholy?  (In  fact, 
we  can  only  compare  it  to  an  electric  light  bulb 
with  the  power  gone  wrong.)  Who  is  it?  It 
is  Jefferson  C.  Davis,  President,  as  our  readers 
will  be  gratified  to  learn,  of  the  Confederate 
States. 

It  being  a  fine  day  and  altogether  suitable 
for  the  purpose.  General  Longstreet  reined  in 
his  prancing  black  charger  (during  this  dis- 
tressed period  all  the  horses  in  both  armies 
were  charged:  there  was  no  other  way  to  pay 

210 


The  Blue  and  The  Grey 


for  them),  and  in  a  few  terse  words,  about 
three  pages,  gave  his  views  on  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States. 

Jefferson  Davis,  standing  up  in  his  §tirrups, 
delivered  a  stirring  harangue,  about  six  col- 
umns, on  the  powers  of  the  Supreme  Court, 
admirably  calculated  to  rouse  the  soldiers  to 
frenzy.  After  which  General  A.  P.  Hill 
offered  a  short  address,  soldierlike  and  to  the 
point,  on  the  fundamental  principles  of  inter- 
national law,  which  inflamed  the  army  to  the 
highest  pitch. 

At  this  moment  an  officer  approached  the 
President,  saluted  and  stood  rigidly  at  atten- 
tion. Davis,  with  that  nice  punctilio  which 
marked  the  Southern  army,  returned  the  salute. 

''Do  you  speak  first?"  he  said,  "or  do  I?" 

"Let  me,"  said  the  officer.  "Your  Excel- 
lency," he  continued,  "a  young  Virginian  officer 
has  just  been  fished  out  of  the  Mississippi." 

Davis's  eye  flashed.  "Good!"  he  said. 
"Look  and  see  if  there  are  many  more,"  and 
then  he  added  with  a  touch  of  melancholy,  "the 

211 


New  NoTiseTise  Novels 


South  needs  them:  fish  them  all  out.  Bring 
this  one  here." 

Eggleston  Lee  Carey  Randolph,  still  drip- 
ping from  the  waters  of  the  bayou,  was  led  by 
the  faithful  negroes  who  had  rescued  him  be- 
fore the  generals.  Davis,  who  kept  every 
thread  of  the  vast  panorama  of  the  war  in  his 
intricate  brain,  eyed  him  keenly  and  directed 
a  few  searching  questions  to  him,  such  as: 
"Who  are  you?  Where  are  you?  What  day 
of  the  week  is  it?  How  much  is  nine  times 
twelve?"  and  so  forth.  Satisfied  with  Eggles- 
ton's  answers,  Davis  sat  in  thought  a  moment, 
and  then  continued: 

"I  am  anxious  to  send  someone  through  the 
entire  line  of  the  Confederate  armies  in  such 
a  way  that  he  will  be  present  at  all  the  great 
battles  and  end  up  at  the  battle  of  Gettysburg.' 
Can  you  do  it?" 

Randolph  looked  at  his  chief  with  a  flush 
of  pride. 

"I  can,"  he  said. 

"Good!"  resumed  Davis.  "To  accomplish 
this  task  you   must  carry   despatches.    What 

212 


The  Blue  and  The  Grey 


they  will  be  about  I  have  not  yet  decided.  But 
it  is  customary  in  such  cases  to  write  them  so 
that  they  are  calculated,  if  lost,  to  endanger 
the  entire  Confederate  cause.  The  main  thing 
is  can  you  carry  them?" 

"Sir,"  said  Eggleston,  raising  his  hand  in  a 
military  salute,  "I  am  a  Randolph." 

Davis  with  soldierly  dignity  removed  his  hat. 
"I  am  proud  to  hear  it,  Captain  Randolph,"  he 
said. 

"And  a  Carey,"  continued  our  hero. 

Davis,  with  a  graciousness  all  his  own,  took 
off  his  gloves.  "I  trust  you.  Major  Randolph," 
he  said. 

"And  I  am  a  Lee,"  added  Eggleston  quickly. 

Davis  with  a  courtly  bow  unbuttoned  his 
jacket.  "It  is  enough,"  he  said.  "I  trust  you. 
You  shall  carry  the  despatches.  You  are  to 
carry  them  on  your  person  and,  as  of  course 
you  understand,  you  are  to  keep  on  losing  them. 
You  are  to  drop  them  into  rivers,  hide  them  in 
old  trees,  bury  them  under  moss,  talk  about 
them  In  your  sleep — in  fact,  sir,"  said  Davis, 
with  a  slight  gesture  of  Impatience  (it  was  his 
213 


New  NonseTise  Novels 


one  fault) — "you  must  act  towards  them  as 
any  bearer  of  Confederate  despatches  is  ex- 
pected to  act.  The  point  is,  can  you  do  it,  or 
can't  you?" 

"Sir,"  said  Randolph,  saluting  again  with 
simple  dignity,  "I  come  from  Virginia." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  President,  saluting 
with  both  hands,  "I  had  forgotten  it." 


CHAPTER  III 

Randolph  set  out  that  night  mounted  upon 
the  fastest  horse,  in  fact  the  fleetest,  that  the 
Confederate  Army  could  supply.  He  was  at- 
tended only  by  a  dozen  faithful  negroes,  all 
devoted  to  his  person. 

Riding  over  the  Tennessee  mountains  by 
paths  known  absolutely  to  no  one  and  never 
advertised,  he  crossed  the  Tombigbee,  the 
Tahoochie  and  the  Tallahassee,  all  frightfully 
swollen,  and  arrived  at  the  headquarters  of 
General  Braxton  Bragg. 

At  this  moment  Bragg  was  extended  over 
some  seven  miles  of  bush  and  dense  swamp. 
214 


The  Blue  and  The  Grey 


His  front  rested  on  the  marshes  of  the 
Tahoochie  River,  while  his  rear  was  doubled 
sharply  back  and  rested  on  a  dense  growth  of 
cactus  plants.  Our  readers  can  thus  form  a 
fairly  accurate  idea  of  Bragg's  position.  Over 
against  him,  not  more  than  fifty  miles  to  the 
north,  his  indomitable  opponent,  Grant,  lay  in 
a  frog  swamp.  The  space  between  them  was 
filled  with  Union  and  Confederate  pickets, 
fraternizing,  joking,  roasting  corn,  and  firing 
an  occasional  shot  at  one  another. 

One   glance   at   Randolph's  despatches  was 
enough. 

''Take  them  at  once  to  General  Hood,"  said 
Bragg. 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  Eggleston  with  mili- 
tary precision. 

Bragg  waved  his  sword  towards  the  east. 
It  was  characteristic  of  the  man  that  even  on 
active  service  he  carried  a  short  sword,  while 
a  pistol,  probably  loaded,  protruded  from  his 
belt.  But  such  was  Bragg.  Anyway,  he  waved 
his  sword*  "Over  there  beyond  the  Tahoochi- 
caba  range,"  he  said.  "Do  you  know  it?" 
215 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


''No,"  said  Randolph,  "but  I  can  find  It." 

''Do,"  said  Bragg,  and  added,  "One  thing 
more.  On  your  present  mission  let  nothing  stop 
you.  Go  forward  at  all  costs.  If  you  come  to 
a  river,  swim  It.  If  you  come  to  a  tree,  cut  it 
down.  If  you  strike  a  fence,  climb  over  it.  But 
don't  stop !  If  you  are  killed,  never  mind.  Do 
you  understand?" 

"Almost,"  said  Eggleston. 

Two  days  later  Eggleston  reached  the  head- 
quarters of  General  Hood,  and  flung  himself, 
rather  than  dismounted,  from  his  jaded  horse. 

"Take  me  to  the  General!"  he  gasped. 

They  pointed  to  the  log  cabin  In  which  Gen- 
eral Hood  was  quartered. 

Eggleston  flung  himself,  rather  than  stepped, 
through  the  door. 

Hood  looked  up  from  the  table. 

"Who  was  that  flung  himself  In?"  he  asked. 

Randolph  reached  out  his  hand.  "De- 
spatches!" he  gasped.     "Food,  whisky!" 

"Poor  lad,"  said  the  General,  "you  are  ex- 
hausted.   When  did  you  last  have  food?" 

"Yesterday  morning,"  gasped  Eggleston. 
216 


The  Blue  and  The  Grey 


"You're  lucky,"  said  Hood  bitterly.  "And 
when  did  you  last  have  a  drink?" 

"Two  weeks  ago,"  answered  Randolph. 

"Great  heaven!"  said  Hood,  starting  up. 
"Is  it  possible?    Here,  quick,  drink  it!" 

He  reached  out  a  bottle  of  whisky.  Ran- 
dolph drained  it  to  the  last  drop. 

"Now,  General,"  he  said,  "I  am  at  your 
service." 

Meanwhile  Hood  had  cast  his  eye  over  the 
despatches. 

"Major  Randolph,"  he  said,  "you  have  seen 
General  Bragg?" 

"I  have." 

"And  Generals  Johnston  and  Smith?" 

"Yes." 

"You  have  been  through  Mississippi  and 
Tennessee  and  seen  all  the  battles  there?" 

"I  have,"  said  Randolph. 

"Then,"  said  Hood,  "there  Is  nothing  left 
except  to  send  you  at  once  to  the  army  in  Vir- 
ginia under  General  Lee.  Remount  your  horse 
at  once  and  ride  to  Gettysburg.    Lose  no  time." 


217 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


CHAPTER  IV 

It  was  at  Gettysburg  in  Pennsylvania  that 
Randolph  found  General  Lee. 

The  famous  field  is  too  well  known  to  need 
description.  The  armies  of  the  North  and  the 
South  lay  in  and  around  the  peaceful  village  of 
Gettysburg.  About  it  the  yellow  cornfields 
basked  in  the  summer  sun.  The  voices  of  the 
teachers  and  the  laughter  of  merry  children 
rose  in  the  harvest  fields.  But  already  the 
shadow  of  war  was  falling  over  the  landscape. 
As  soon  as  the  armies  arrived,  the  shrewder  of 
the  farmers  suspected  that  there  would  be 
trouble. 

General  Lee  was  seated  gravely  on  his 
horse,  looking  gravely  over  the  ground  before 
him. 

"Major  Randolph,"  said  the  Confederate 
chieftain  gravely,  ''you  are  just  in  time.  We 
are  about  to  go  into  action.  I  need  your 
advice.'* 

Randolph  bowed.  "Ask  me  anything  you 
like,"  he  said. 

218 


The  Blue  and  The  Grey 


"Do  you  like  the  way  I  have  the  army 
placed?"  asked  Lee. 

Our  hero  directed  a  searching  look  over  the 
field.     ''Frankly,  I  don't,"  he  said. 

"What's  the  matter  with  It?"  questioned  Lee 
eagerly.  "I  felt  there  was  something  wrong 
myself.    What  Is  It?" 

"Your  left,"  said  Randolph,  "is  too  far 
advanced.    It  sticks  out." 

"By  heaven!"  said  Lee,  turning  to  General 
Longstreet,  "the  boy  is  right!  Is  there  any- 
thing else?'* 

"Yes,"  said  Randolph,  "your  right  is 
crooked.    It  Is  all  sideways." 

"It  Is.  It  is!"  said  Lee,  striking  his  fore- 
head. "I  never  noticed  it.  I'll  have  It  straight- 
ened at  once.  Major  Randolph,  if  the  Confed- 
erate cause  Is  saved,  you,  and  you  alone,  have 
saved  it." 

"One  thing  more,"  said  Randolph.  "Is  your 
artillery  loaded?" 

"Major  Randolph,"  said  Lee,  speaking  very 
gravely,  "you  have  saved  us  again.  I  never 
thought  of  it." 

219 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


At  this  moment  a  bullet  sang  past  Eggles- 
ton's  ear.    He  smiled. 

"The  battle  has  begun,"  he  murmured. 
Another  bullet  buzzed  past  his  other  ear.  He 
laughed  softly  to  himself.  A  shell  burst  close 
to  his  feet.  He  broke  into  uncontrolled  laugh- 
ter.   This  kind  of  thing  always  amused  him. 

Then,  turning  grave  in  a  moment:  "Put  Gen- 
eral Lee  under  cover,"  he  said  to  those  about 
him,  "spread  something  over  him." 

In  a  few  moments  the  battle  was  raging  in  all 
directions.  The  Confederate  Army  was  nom- 
inally controlled  by  General  Lee,  but  in  reality 
by  our  hero.  Eggleston  was  everywhere. 
Horses  were  shot  under  him.  Mules  were  shot 
around  him  and  behind  him.  Shells  exploded 
all  over  him;  but  with  undaunted  courage  he 
continued  to  wave  his  sword  in  all  directions, 
riding  wherever  the  fight  was  hottest. 

The  battle  raged  for  three  days. 

On  the  third  day  of  the  conflict,  Randolph, 
his   coat   shot   to    rags,    his   hat   pierced,    his 
trousers  practically  useless,  still  stood  at  Lee's 
side,  urging  and  encouraging  him. 
220 


The  Blue  and  The  Grey 


Mounted  on  his  charger,  he  flew  to  and  fro 
in  all  parts  of  the  field,  moving  the  artillery, 
leading  the  cavalry,  animating  and  directing 
the  Infantry.     In  fact,  he  was  the  whole  battle. 

But  his  efforts  were  In  vain. 

He  turned  sadly  to  General  Lee.  "It  is 
bootless,''  he  said. 

"What  is?"  asked  Lee. 

"The  army,"  said  Randolph.  "We  must 
withdraw  It." 

"Major  Randolph,"  said  the  Confederate 
chief,  "I  yield  to  your  superior  knowledge.  We 
must  retreat." 

A  few  hours  later  the  Confederate  forces, 
checked  but  not  beaten,  were  retiring  southward 
towards  Virginia. 

Eggleston,  his  head  sunk  in  thought,  rode  in 
the  rear. 

As  he  thus  slowly  neared  a  farmhouse,  a 
woman — a  girl — flew  from  it  towards  him  with 
outstretched  arms. 

"Eggleston!"  she  cried. 

Randolph  flung  himself  from  his  horse. 
"Leonora!"  he  gasped.     "You  here!     l^n  all 

221 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


this  danger!  How  comes  it,  what  brings  you 
here?" 

"We  live  here,"  she  said.  "This  is  Pa's 
house.  This  is  our  farm.  Gettysburg  is  our 
home.  Oh,  Egg,  it  has  been  dreadful,  the  noise 
of  the  battle !  We  couldn't  sleep  for  it.  Pa's 
all  upset  about  it.  But  come  in.  Do  come  in. 
Dinner's  nearly  ready." 

Eggleston  gazed  a  moment  at  the  retreating 
army.  Duty  and  affection  struggled  in  his 
heart. 

"I  will,"  he  said. 

CHAPTER  V 

CONCLUSION 

The  strife  is  done.  The  conflict  has  ceased. 
The  wounds  are  healed.  North  and  South  are 
one.  East  and  West  are  even  less.  The  Civil 
War  is  over.  Lee  is  dead.  Grant  is  buried  in 
New  York.  The  Union  Pacific  runs  from 
Omaha  to  San  Francisco.  There  is  total  pro- 
hibition in  the  United  States.  The  output  of 
dressed  beef  last  year  broke  all  records. 

222 


The  Blue  and  The  Grey 


And  Eggleston  Lee  Carey  Randolph  sur- 
vives, hale  and  hearty,  bright  and  cheery,  free 
and  easy — and  so  forth.  There  is  gray  hair 
upon  his  temples  (some,  not  much),  and  his 
step  has  lost  something  of  its  elasticity  (not  a 
great  deal),  and  his  form  is  somewhat  bowed 
(though  not  really  crooked). 

But  he  still  lives  there  in  the  farmstead  at 
Gettysburg,  and  Leonora,  now,  like  himself,  an 
old  woman,  is  still  at  his  side. 

You  may  see  him  any  day.  In  fact,  he  is 
the  old  man  who  shows  you  over  the  battlefield 
for  fifty  cents  and  explains  how  he  himself 
fought  and  won  the  great  battle. 


223 


VIII 
BUGGAM  GRANGE 

A    Good    Old    Ghost    Story 


VIII, — Bug  gam    Grange:    A    Good    Old 
Ghost  Story 

THE  evening  was  already  falling  as 
the  vehicle  in  which  I  was  contained 
entered  upon  the  long  and  gloomy 
avenue  that  leads  to  Buggam  Grange. 
A  resounding  shriek  echoed  through  the 
wood  as  I  entered  the  avenue.  I  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  it  at  the  moment,  judging  it  to  be 
merely  one  of  those  resounding  shrieks  which 
one  might  expect  to  hear  in  such  a  place  at 
such  a  time.  As  my  drive  continued,  however, 
I  found  myself  wondering  in  spite  of  myself 
why  such  a  shriek  should  have  been  uttered  at 
the  very  moment  of  my  approach. 

I  am  not  by  temperament  in  any  degree  a 
nervous  man,  and  yet  there  was  much  in  my 
surroundings  to  justify  a  certain  feeling  of 
apprehension.  The  Grange  is  situated  in  the 
loneliest  part  of  England,  the  marsh  country 
227 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


ui\ 


Is  to  which  civilization  has  still  hardly 
penetrated.  The  inhabitants,  of  whom  there 
are  only  one  and  a  half  to  the  square  mile^  live 
here  and  there  among  the  fens  and  eke  out  a 
miserable  existence  by  frog  fishing  and  catching 
flies.  They  speak  a  dialect  so  broken  as  to  be 
practically  unintelligible,  while  the  perpetual 
rain  which  falls  upon  them  renders  speech  itself 
almost  superfluous. 

Here  and  there  where  the  ground  rises 
slightly  above  the  level  of  the  fens  there  are 
dense  woods  tangled  with  parasitic  creepers  and 
filled  with  owls.  Bats  fly  from  wood  to  wood. 
The  air  on  the  lower  ground  is  charged  with 
the  poisonous  gases  which  exude  from  the 
marsh,  while  in  the  woods  it  is  heavy  with  the 
dank  odors  of  deadly  nightshade  and  poison 
ivy. 

It  had  been  raining  in  the  afternoon,  and  as 
I  drove  up  the  avenue  the  mournful  dripping 
of  the  rain  from  the  dark  trees  accentuated  the 
cheerlessness  of  the  gloom.  The  vehicle  in 
which  I  rode  was  a  fly  on  three  wheels,  the 
fourth  having  apparently  been  broken  and 
228 


Buggam  Grange 


taken  off,  causing  the  fly  to  sag  on  one  side 
and  drag  on  its  axle  over  the  muddy  ground, 
the  fly  thus  moving  only  at  a  foot's  pace  in  a 
way  calculated  to  enhance  the  dreariness  of  the 
occasion.  The  driver  on  the  box  in  front  of  me 
was  so  thickly  muflled  up  as  to  be  Indistinguish- 
able, while  the  horse  which  drew  us  was  so 
thickly  coated  with  mist  as  to  be  practically  In- 
visible. Seldom,  I  may  say,  have  I  had  a  drive 
of  so  mournful  a  character. 

The  avenue  presently  opened  out  upon  a 
lawn  with  overgrown  shrubberies  and  in  the 
half  darkness  I  could  see  the  outline  of  the 
Grange  itself,  a  rambling,  dilapidated  building, 
A  dim  light  struggled  through  the  casement 
of  a  window  in  a  tower  room.  Save  for  the 
melancholy  cry  of  a  row  of  owls  sitting  on  the 
roof,  and  croaking  of  the  frogs  in  the  moat 
which  ran  around  the  grounds,  the  place  was 
soundless.  My  driver  halted  his  horse  at  the 
hither  side  of  the  moat.  I  tried  in  vain  to  urge 
him,  by  signs,  to  go  further.  I  could  see  by 
the  fellow's  face  that  he  was  In  a  paroxysm  of 
fear  and  indeed  nothing  but  the  extra  sixpence 
229 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


which  I  had  added  to  his  fare  would  have  made 
him  undertake  the  drive  up  the  avenue.  I  had 
no  sooner  alighted  than  he  wheeled  his  cab 
about  and  made  off. 

Laughing  heartily  at  the  fellow's  trepidation 
(I  have  a  way  of  laughing  heartily  in  the 
dark) ,  I  made  my  way  to  the  door  and  pulled 
the  bell-handle.  I  could  hear  the  muffled 
reverberations  of  the  bell  far  within  the  build- 
ing. Then  all  was  silent.  I  bent  my  ear  to 
listen,  but  could  hear  nothing  expect  perhaps 
the  sound  of  a  low  moaning  as  of  a  person  in 
pain  or  in  great  mental  distress.  Convinced, 
however,  from  what  my  friend  Sir  Jeremy 
Buggam  had  told  me,  that  the  Grange  was  not 
empty,  I  raised  the  ponderous  knocker  and  beat 
with  it  loudly  against  the  door. 

But  perhaps  at  this  point  I  may  do  well  to 
explain  to  my  readers  (before  they  are  too 
frightened  to  listen  to  me)  how  I  came  to  be 
beating  on  the  door  of  Buggam  Grange  at 
nightfall  on  a  gloomy  November  evening. 

A  year  before  I  had  been  sitting  with  Sir 
230 


Buggam  Grange 


Jeremy  Buggam,  the  present  baronet,  on  the 
verandah  of  his  ranch  in  California. 

"So  you  don't  believe  in  the  supernatural?" 
he  was  saying. 

"Not  in  the  slightest,"  I  answered,  lighting 
a  cigar  as  I  spoke.  When  I  want  to  speak  very 
positively,  I  generally  light  a  cigar  as  I  speak. 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  Digby,"  said  Sir  Jeremy, 
"Buggam  Grange  is  haunted.  If  you  want  to 
be  assured  of  it  go  down  there  any  time  and 
spend  the  night  and  you'll  see  for  yourself." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  I  replied,  "nothing  will 
give  me  greater  pleasure.  I  shall  be  back  in 
England  in  six  weeks,  and  I  shall  be  delighted 
to  put  your  ideas  to  the  test.  Now  tell  me," 
I  added  somewhat  cynically,  "is  there  any  par- 
ticular season  or  day  when  your  Grange  is  sup- 
posed to  be  specially  terrible?" 

Sir  Jeremy  looked  at  me  strangely.  "Why 
do  you  ask  that?"  he  said.  "Have  you  heard 
the  story  of  the  Grange?" 

"Never  heard  of  the  place  in  my  life,"  I 
answered  cheerily,  "till  you  mentioned  it  to- 
night, my  dear  fellow,  I  hadn't  the  remotest 
231 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


idea  that  you  still  owned  property  In  England." 
"The  Grange  Is  shut  up,"  said  Sir  Jeremy, 
"and  has  been  for  twenty  years.  But  I  keep  a 
man  there — Horrod — he  was  butler  In  my 
father's  time  and  before.  If  you  care  to  go, 
I'll  write  him  that  you're  coming.  And  since 
you  are  taking  your  own  fate  in  your  hands, 
the  fifteenth  of  November  is  the  day." 

At  that  moment  Lady  Buggam  and  Clara 
and  the  other  girls  came  trooping  out  on  the 
verandah,  and  the  whole  thing  passed  clean 
out  of  my  mind.  Nor  did  I  think  of  it  again 
until  I  was  back  in  London.  Then  by  one  of 
those  strange  coincidences  or  premonitions — ■ 
call  it  what  you  will — It  suddenly  occurred  to 
me  one  morning  that  it  was  the  fifteenth  of 
November.  Whether  Sir  Jeremy  had  written 
to  Horrod  or  not,  I  did  not  know.  But  none 
the  less  nightfall  found  me,  as  I  have  described, 
knocking  at  the  door  of  Buggam  Grange. 

The    sound    of    the    knocker    had    scarcely 

ceased  to  echo  when  I  heard  the  shuffling  of  feet 

within,  and  the  sound  of  chains  and  bolts  being 

withdrawn.     The  door  opened.     A  man  stood 

232 


Buggam  Grange 


before  me  holding  a  lighted  candle  which  he 
shaded  with  his  hand.  His  faded  black 
clothes,  once  apparently  a  butler's  dress,  his 
white  hair  and  advanced  age  left  me  In  no 
doubt  that  he  was  Horrod  of  whom  Sir  Jeremy 
had  spoken. 

Without  a  word  he  motioned  me  to  come  In, 
and,  still  without  speech,  he  helped  me  to  re- 
move my  wet  outer  garments,  and  then 
beckoned  me  into  a  great  room,  evidently  the 
dining  room  of  the  Grange. 

I  am  not  in  any  degree  a  nervous  man  by 
temperament,  as  I  think  I  remarked  before, 
and  yet  there  was  something  In  the  vastness  of 
the  wainscotted  room,  lighted  only  by  a  single 
candle,  and  in  the  silence  of  the  empty  house, 
and  still  more  in  the  appearance  of  my  speech- 
less attendant  which  gave  me  a  feeling  of  dis- 
tinct uneasiness.  As  Horrod  moved  to  and 
fro  I  took  occasion  to  scrutinize  his  face  more 
narrowly.  I  have  seldom  seen  features  more 
calculated  to  inspire  a  nervous  dread.  The 
pallor  of  his  face  and  the  whiteness  of  his  hair 
(the  man  was  at  least  seventy),  and  still  more 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


the  peculiar  furtlveness  of  his  eyes,  seemed  to 
mark  him  as  one  who  lived  under  a  great  terror. 
He  moved  with  a  noiseless  step  and  at  times 
he  turned  his  head  to  glance  In  the  dark  corners 
of  the  room. 

''Sir  Jeremy  told  me,"  I  said,  speaking  as 
loudly  and  as  heartily  as  I  could,  "that  he 
would  apprise  you  of  my  coming.'^ 

I  was  looking  Into  his  face  as  I  spoke. 

In  answer  Horrod  laid  his  finger  across  his 
lips  and  I  knew  that  he  was  deaf  and  dumb.  I 
am  not  nervous  (I  think  I  said  that),  but  the 
realization  that  my  sole  companion  In  the  empty 
house  was  a  deaf  mute  struck  a  cold  chill  to 
my  heart. 

Horrod  laid  In  front  of  me  a  cold  meat  pie, 
a  cold  goose,  a  cheese,  and  a  tall  flagon  of 
cider.  But  my  appetite  was  gone.  I  ate  the 
goose,  but  found  that  after  I  had  finished  the 
pie  I  had  but  little  zest  for  the  cheese,  which 
I  finished  without  enjoyment.  The  cider  had 
a  sour  taste,  and  after  having  permitted 
Horrod  to  refill  the  flagon  twice,  I  found  that 
234 


Buggam  Grange 


it  induced  a  sense  of  melancholy  and  decided 
to  drink  no  more. 

My  meal  finished,  the  butler  picked  up  the 
candle  and  beckoned  to  me  to  follow  him.  We 
passed  through  the  empty  corridors  of  the 
house,  a  long  line  of  pictured  Buggams  looking 
upon  us  as  we  passed,  their  portraits  in  the 
flickering  light  of  the  taper  assuming  a  strange 
and  life-like  appearance  as  if  leaning  forward 
from  their  frames  to  gaze  upon  the  intruder. 

Horrod  led  me  upstairs  and  I  realized  that 
he  was  taking  me  to  the  tower  in  the  east  wing 
in  which  I  had  observed  a  light. 

The  rooms  to  which  the  butler  conducted 
me  consisted  of  a  sitting  room  with  an  adjoin- 
ing bedroom,  both  of  them  fitted  with  antique 
wainscotting  against  which  a  faded  tapestry 
fluttered.  There  was  a  candle  burning  on  the 
table  in  the  sitting  room  but  its  insufficient  light 
only  rendered  the  surroundings  the  more  dis- 
mal. Horrod  bent  down  in  front  of  the  fire- 
place and  endeavoured  to  light  a  fire  there. 
But  the  wood  was  evidently  damp,  and  the  fire 
flickered  feebly  on  the  hearth. 
235 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


The  butler  left  me,  and  in  the  stillness  of 
the  house  I  could  hear  his  shuffling  step  echo 
down  the  corridor.  It  may  have  been  fancy, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  departure  was  the 
signal  for  a  low  moan  that  came  from  some- 
where behind  the  wainscot.  There  was  a  nar- 
row cupboard  door  at  one  side  of  the  room, 
and  for  the  moment  I  wondered  whether  the 
moaning  came  from  within.  I  am  not  as  a  rule 
lacking  in  courage  (I  am  sure  my  reader  will 
be  decent  enough  to  believe  this),  yet  I  found 
myself  entirely  unwilling  to  open  the  cupboard 
door  and  look  within.  In  place  of  doing  so 
I  seated  myself  in  a  great  chair  in  front  of 
the  feeble  fire.  I  must  have  been  seated  there 
for  some  time  when  I  happened  to  lift  my  eyes 
to  the  mantel  above  and  saw,  standing  upon 
it,  a  letter  addressed  to  myself.  I  knew  the 
handwriting  at  once  to  be  that  of  Sir  Jeremy 
Buggam. 

I  opened  it,  and  spreading  it  out  within  reach 
of  the  feeble  candle  light,  I  read  as  follows: 


236 


Buggam  Grange 


*^My  dear  Dighy, 

In  our  talk  that  you  will  remember  I  had  no 
time  to  finish  telling  you  about  the  mystery  of 
Buggam  Grange.  I  take  for  granted,  however, 
that  you  will  go  there  and  that  Horrod  will  put 
you  In  the  tower  rooms,  which  are  the  only  ones 
that  make  any  pretense  of  being  habitable.  I 
have,  therefore,  sent  him  this  letter  to  deliver 
at  the  Grange  Itself.    The  story  Is  this : 

On  the  night  of  the  fifteenth  of  November, 
fifty  years  ago,  my  grandfather  was  murdered 
in  the  room  In  which  you  are  sitting,  by  his 
cousin  Sir  Duggam  Buggam.  He  was  stabbed 
from  fcehind  while  seated  at  the  little  table  at 
which  you  are  probably  reading  this  letter. 
The  two  had  been  playing  cards  at  the  table 
and  my  grandfather's  body  was  found  lying  in 
a  litter  of  cards  and  gold  sovereigns  on  the 
floor.  Sir  Duggam  Buggam,  insensible  from 
drink,  lay  beside  him,  the  fatal  knife  at  his 
hand,  his  fingers  smeared  with  blood.  My 
grandfather,  though  of  the  younger  branch, 
possessed  a  part  of  the  estates  which  were  to 
237 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


revert  to  Sir  Duggam  on  his  death.  Sir  Dug- 
gam  Buggam  was  tried  at  the  Assizes  and  was 
hanged.  On  the  day  of  his  execution  he  was 
permitted  by  the  authorities,  out  of  respect  for 
his  rank,  to  wear  a  mask  to  the  scaffold.  The 
clothes  in  which  he  was  executed  are  hanging 
at  full  length  in  the  little  cupboard  to  your 
right,  and  the  mask  is  above  them.  It  is  said 
that  on  every  fifteenth  of  November  at  mid- 
night the  cupboard  door  opens  and  Sir  Duggam 
Buggam  walks  out  into  the  room.  It  has  been 
found  Impossible  to  get  servants  to  remain  at 
the  Grange,  and  the  place — except  for  the 
presence  of  Horrod — has  been  unoccupied  for 
a  generation.  At  the  time  of  the  murder 
Horrod  was  a  young  man  of  twenty-two,  newly 
entered  into  the  service  of  the  family.  It  was 
he  who  entered  the  room  and  discovered  the 
crime.  On  the  day  of  the  execution  he  was 
stricken  with  paralysis  and  has  never  spoken 
since.  From  that  time  to  this  he  has  never 
consented  to  leave  the  Grange  where  he  lives 
in  isolation. 

238 


Buggam  Grange 


Wishing  you  a  pleasant  night  after  your 
tiring  journey, 

I  remain, 

Very  faithfully, 

Jeremy  Buggam." 

I  leave  my  reader  to  imagine  my  state  of 
mind  when  I  completed  the  perusal  of  the  letter. 

I  have  as  little  belief  in  the  supernatural  as 
anyone,  yet  I  must  confess  that  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  surroundings  in  which  I  now  found 
myself  which  rendered  me  at  least  uncomfort- 
able. My  reader  may  smile  if  he  will,  but  I 
assure  him  that  it  was  with  a  very  distinct  feel- 
ing of  uneasiness  that  I  at  length  managed  to 
rise  to  my  feet,  and,  grasping  my  candle  in  my 
hand,  to  move  backward  into  the  bedroom.  As 
I  backed  into  it  something  so  like  a  moan 
seemed  to  proceed  from  the  closed  cupboard 
that  I  accelerated  my  backward  movement  to  a 
considerable  degree.  I  hastily  blew  out  the 
candle,  threw  myself  upon  the  bed  and  drew 
the  bed  clothes  over  my  head,  keeping,  how- 
ever, one  eye  and  one  ear  still  out  and  avail- 
able. 

239 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


How  long  I  lay  thus  listening  to  every 
sound,  I  cannot  tell.  The  stillness  had  become 
absolute.  From  time  to  time  I  could  dimly 
hear  the  distant  cry  of  an  owl  and  once  far 
away  in  the  building  below  a  sound  as  of  some- 
one dragging  a  chain  along  a  floor.  More  than 
once  I  was  certain  that  I  heard  the  sound  of 
moaning  behind  the  wainscot.  Meantime  I 
realized  that  the  hour  must  now  be  drawing 
close  upon  the  fatal  moment  of  midnight.  My 
watch  I  could  not  see  in  the  darkness,  but  by 
reckoning  the  time  that  must  have  elapsed  I 
knew  that  midnight  could  not  be  far  away. 
Then  presently  my  ear,  alert  to  every  sound, 
could  just  distinguish  far  away  across  the  fens 
the  striking  of  a  church  bell,  in  the  clock  tower 
of  Buggam  village  church,  no  doubt„  tolling  the 
hour  of  twelve. 

On  the  last  stroke  of  twelve,  the  cupboard 
door  in  the  next  room  opened.  There  is  no 
need  to  ask  me  how  I  knew  it.  I  couldn't,  of 
course,  see  It,  but  I  could  hear,  or  sense  in  some 
way,  the  sound  of  it.  I  could  feel  my  hair,  all 
of  it,  rising  upon  my  head.  I  was  aware  that 
240 


Buggam  Grange 


there  was  a  presence  In  the  adjoining  room,  I 
win  not  say  a  person,  a  living  soul,  but  a 
presence.  Anyone  who  has  been  In  the  next 
room  to  a  presence  will  know  just  how  I  felt. 
I  could  hear  a  sound  as  of  someone  groping  on 
the  floor  and  the  faint  rattle  as  of  coins. 

My  hair  was  now  perpendicular.  My  reader 
can  blame  It  or  not,  but  it  was. 

Then  at  this  very  moment  from  somewhere 
below  In  the  building  there  came  the  sound  of 
a  prolonged  and  piercing  cry,  a  cry  as  of  a  soul 
passing  In  agony.  My  reader  may  censure  me 
or  not,  but  right  at  this  moment  I  decided  to 
beat  It.  Whether  I  should  have  remained  to 
see  what  was  happening  is  a  question  that  I  will 
not  discuss.  My  one  idea  was  to  get  out  and 
to  get  out  quickly.  The  window  of  the  tower 
room  was  some  twenty-five  feet  above  the 
ground.  I  sprang  out  through  the  casement  In 
one  leap  and  landed  on  the  grass  below.  I 
jumped  over  the  shrubbery  in  one  bound  and 
cleared  the  moat  In  one  jump.  I  went  down  the 
avenue  in  about  six  strides  and  ran  five  miles 
along  the  road  through  the  fens  in  three 
241 


New  Nonsense  Novels 


minutes.  This  at  least  is  an  accurate  transcrip- 
tion of  my  sensations.  It  may  have  taken 
longer.  I  never  stopped  till  I  found  myself  on 
the  threshold  of  the  Buggam  Arms  in  Little 
Buggam,  beating  on  the  door  for  the  landlord. 

I  returned  to  Buggam  Grange  on  the  next 
day  in  the  bright  sunlight  of  a  frosty  Novem- 
ber morning,  in  a  seven  cylinder  motor  car  with 
six  local  constables  and  a  physician.  It  makes 
all  the  difference.  We  carried  revolvers, 
spades,  pickaxes,  shotguns  and  a  ouija  board. 

What  we  found  cleared  up  forever  the  mys- 
tery of  the  Grange.  We  discovered  Horrod 
the  butler  lying  on  the  dining  room  floor  quite 
dead.  The  physician  said  that  he  had  died 
from  heart  failure.  There  was  evidence  from 
the  marks  of  his  shoes  in  the  dust  that  he  had 
come  in  the  night  to  the  tower  room.  On  the 
table  he  had  placed  a  paper  which  contained  a 
full  confession  of  his  having  murdered  Jeremy 
Buggam  fifty  years  before.  The  circumstances 
of  the  murder  had  rendered  it  easy  for  him  to 
fasten  the  crime  upon  Sir  Duggam,  already  in- 
sensible from  drink.  A  few  minutes  with  the 
242 


Buggam  Grange 


ouija  board  enabled  us  to  get  a  full  corrobora- 
tion from  Sir  Duggam.  He  promised  more- 
over, now  that  his  name  was  cleared,  to  go 
away  from  the  premises  forever. 

My  friend,  the  present  Sir  Jeremy,  has  re- 
habilitated Buggam  Grange.  The  place  is 
rebuilt.  The  moat  is  drained.  The  whole 
house  is  lit  with  electricity.  There  are  beauti- 
ful motor  drives  in  all  directions  in  the  woods. 
He  has  had  the  bats  shot  and  the  owls  stuffed. 
His  daughter,  Clara  Buggam,  became  my  wife. 
She  is  looking  over  my  shoulder  as  I  write. 
What  more  do  you  want? 


THE   END 


243 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


Wr^^ 


Rgeo  CD 

ARRT1960 


MAR  1  2 1976  4 


.^Lm    MAR  2576 


-4AW-2r8^98fr 


% 


m. 


TfAiH' 


k 


LD  21A-50m-4,'59 
(A1724sl0)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


^la  }c 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


